■^■^•^^b^,.^,^,.^^ 



'J LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. J 
# — 

f — — -— j 

I UNITED STATICS OF AMERICA, f 



WAYSIDE GLEANINGS 

IN 

EUROPE. 

BENJAMIN BAUSMAN, D. D. 



" Travel in the younger sort is the part of education ; In 
the elder, the part of experience." — Lord Bacon. 



'> i a*. 

READING, PA. : V^T, 

DANIEL MILLER, 113 North Sixth StFeet 

PHILADELPHIA : 

REFORMED CHURCH PUBLICATION BOARD 

907 Arch Street. 




THE LIBRARY 
OF CONGRESS 

WASHINGTON 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, 

BY DANIEL MILLER, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 






TO 



THE MEMBERS OF 



ST. PAUL'S 



MEMORIAL REFORMED CHURCH, 



READING, PA., 



TO WHOM HE HAS SUSTAINED 



THE SACRED RELATION 



FRIEND AND PASTOR, 



THIS VOLUME 



IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 



BY THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE. 



This volume, as its title indicates, is comprised of 
gleanings from a harvest field often and skillfully reaped 
by others. A field, however, so peculiarly productive 
that every reaper and gleaner, after having gathered 
precious sheaves, still leave much to be harvested and 
gleaned by those coming after him. The book contains 
a portion of a series of travels, of which a volume, Sinai 
and Zion, published some years ago, was a part. 
Through different countries and climes has the wayside 
lain and led, along which the contents of this volume 
have been gathered. Through Great Britain and along 
the Northern Ocean ; from the Netherlands along the 
Rhine to the top of the Alps ; thence northward again to 
Luebeck ; thence southward, through Austria and Italy 
to Naples, have I wandered. Thus I have traversed cen- 
tral and eastern Europe, from north to south, three times. 

As the gleaner, at the close of the day, carefully as- 
sorts every head of wheat gathered, and binds the golden 
grain into sheaves, so was I in the habit of assorting 
and storing away the fruits of each day at its close. In 
secluded mountain retreats, in village inns, and in the 
more noisy quarters of the crowded city, I thrashed the 
harvest and garnered it in articles for the columns and 
pages of different periodicals. Thus it happened that 
the greater part of this volume was written at or near 
the places to which reference is made. The impressions 
of men and manners, of things seen, heard and felt, were 
noted down when yet fresh and vivid in the mind. 

Lest the reference to certain events and the state- 
ment of certain facts might seem to be out of date and 
time, I beg the reader to bear in mind that the contents 



VI PREFACE. 

of this book were chiefly gathered when Frederick Wil- 
liam IV. was still on the throne of Prussia, and Napoleon 
III. Emperor of France; when the tap of the Austrian 
drum was still heard on the plains of Lombardy, and 
Pius IX. was still the ruler of the Papal States. Many 
of the good men whose ministrations and social intercourse 
I gratefully enjoyed, have since then entered into rest. 
In an age like ours, wherein towns and nations change, 
grow and decay so rapidly, the author of a book of 
travels, who has gathered his material more than half a 
generation ago, assumes a serious risk. Still, if the wine 
be of a good quality, its flavor will improve with 
age, however plain the bottles may be that contain it. 

Many an author must in later life modify or condemn 
the sentiments he held and expressed in the dash and fresh- 
ness of his earlier years. Substantially I still hold the 
views on European Christianity expressed in this vol- 
ume. Subsequent events have, in most cases, proven my 
position concerning the affairs of Church and State in 
Europe correct. 

In conclusion, dear reader, if you would know how 
to read this, or any other book aright, hear what the 
scholarly Erasmus saith: 

"A reader should sit down to a book, especial^ of the mis- 
cellaneous kind, as a well behaved visitor does to a banquet. 
The master of the feast exerts himself to satisfy all his guests ; 
but after all his care and pains, should there still be something 
or other put on the table that does not suit this or that person's 
taste, they politely pass it over, without noticing the circum- 
stance, and commend other dishes, that they may not distress 
their kind host, or throw a damp on his spirits. For who could 
tolerate a guest, that accepted an invitation to your table, with 
no other purpose but that of finding fault with everything put 
before him, neither eating himself, nor suffering others to eat in 
comfort. And you may fall in with a still worse set thai even 
these, with churls that in all companies and without stop or 
stay, will condemn and pull to pieces a work which they have 
never read." 

Reading, Pa., September 29, 1875. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

From New York to Liverpool, ... Page 1 

CHAPTER II. 

Edinburg — Its Monuments — Sunday — Dr. Candlish — Dr. 
Guthrie, - - - - - - - 12 

CHAPTER III. 

Melrose Abbey — Abbottsford — Loch Katrine — Loch Lo- 
mond — Glasgow, - - - - - - 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Birth-place and Home of Robert Burns — Belfast — The 
Giant's Causeway — Sweet Auburn, - - - 49 

CHAPTER V. 

Dublin — Dr. Newman — Ireland and the Irish— Birming- 
ham, ....... 68 

CHAPTER VI. 

Stratford-On-A von— Oxford — London — St. Paul's— West- 
minster Abbey — Exeter Hall — Dr. Cumming — Baptist 
Noel — Spurgeon, - - - - - - 80 

CHAPTER VII. 

Ostend — A City on Stilts — Damming Back the Sea — A 
Sunday in Amsterdam— A Cleanly Village — A Holland 
Farm House — Duesseldorf — Elberfeld and the Wupper- 
thal— Cologne, 107 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Bingen — Freilaubersheim— Village Life in Germany, - 131 

CHAPTER IX. 

Ober-Ingelheim — A Church Festival— -Frankford— Spires 
— Mayence — Heidelberg, ----- 156 

CHAPTER X. 

Basel — Missionary Festival — Berne — Bernese Highlands 
— Interlaken — -Lauterbrunnen — Jungfrau - -Gruendel- 
wald — Lake Luzerne and the Greutli — In a Thunder- 
storm on the Rhigi — Geneva, .... 177 

VII 



277 



296 



y ln CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Martienv— St. Bernard— Chamouny — Zurich-Constance 
--Schaffhausen-A Clerical Conference-The Anniver- 
sary of the Swiss Pastoral Conference-The Rhine Fall 
—History and National Peculiarities of Switzerland, l»« 

CHAPTER XII. 

Auesburg — Bavaria— Munich — Wuertemburg— Alsace- 
Strasburg-Saxony— Hesse-The Wartburg— Witten- 
berg— Halberstadt — Glindenberg Bremen — Gustav 

Adolph Anniversary, - 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Luebeck-The Evangelical Church Diet -Berlin-Potsdam 
—Dr. F. W. Krummacher, - - - - - zoa 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Kirmes or German Fairs-The Religious Condition of 
Germany— The Union of Church and State, - 

CHAPTER XV. 

Church Attendance-The Lord's Day-The Confessions of 
Germany— Lutheran, Reformed and United Churches, 

CHAPTER XVI. 
The Rationalism of Germany— Governmental and Police 
Regulations— Its Bloody and Brave Battles, - - aiu 

CHAPTER XVII. 

German Universities and Students— Church Buildings- 
Forms of Worship— Charitable Institutions— Hengsten- 
berg, Nitzsch, Ritter and Ullman, 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Street Life in Berlin— Dresden— Herrnhut— Bohemia- 
Prague, - - - 

CHAPTER XIX. 
Vienna— Trieste— Venice— Milan— Genoa— Florence, - 

CHAPTER XX. 

Sienna— Across the Appennines-Rome-Frascati-Albano 
— Tivoli— The Vatican— The Pope and the People— I he 
Catacombs— The Ghetto or Jewish Quarter, - - ™i 

CHAPTER XXL 

A Christmas in Rome— From Rome to Naples— The Streets 
of Naples — Camaldolio— Mt. Vesuvius— Pompeii and 

Herculaneum Sorrento— Capri— A Disgusting Sea 

Voyage— Puteoli, - 



318 



347 



370 



442 



WAYSIDE GLEANINGS. 



CHAPTER I. 



FROM NEW YORK TO LIVERPOOL. 



On the morning of the 12th of April, I went on 
board the steamer Atlantic at the Canal street wharf, 
New York. It was a pleasant spring morning, and the 
deck was soon crowded with passengers and their friends 
who came to see them depart. When the signal was 
given to clear the boat, the crowd presented a scene 01 
strange confusion. What warm embraces and ardent 
well wishes. Some laughing, some crying, and some 
with a singular relish for parting trials, would run back 
and part thrice over. My parting had been done before, 
which is not the least unpleasant ingredient of a sea voy- 
age. When the gangway was about being lowered the 
last man rushed through the crowd, crying, "stop, stop 
I want to go along." He was told that he was too late! 
But he persisted, and by some means or other succeeded 
to scramble on board. As our boat proudly floated away 
from the dock, the firing of cannons, waving of handker- 
chiefs and loud huzzas, gave the signal that the die was 
cast. Now let him that is on board remain on board 
for better or worse, for pleasure or pain, until we reach 



2 SEA VOYAGE. 

the other side of the water, or wherever God in his 
providence may lead us. 

A man may theorize about the propriety and plan of 
a sea-voyage, but when the last link that binds him to 
the shore has been severed, he will be likely to wish that 
some bridge, boat or gangway would leave the way open 
for reconsideration. And when for the first time he sees 
the shore of his native land retiring, a land perhaps that 
contains all that is dear to him in this life, he will feel 
that it is after all a silly step for him to go into a coun- 
try of strangers, where he must forego the endearments 
and comforts of home. 

When we were out about four hours, the sea began 
to swell, the boat rocked and rolled to and fro. Sud- 
denly, as if seized by some evil spirit, I felt a heavy, 
ugly sensation, and before I had time to think what it 
was, it drove me to the side of the boat to pay unwilling 
tribute to the sea. I expected to become sea-sick, but 
looked for premonitory warnings. Its victory was 
achieved by stratagem. For just when all were on tip- 
toe of admiration, eager to enjoy the bracing sea air and 
get a glimpse of all the new things to be seen on the 
ocean, this fell power took them by surprise before they 
had time to avoid it. And such a scene. In a moment 
the most cheerful faces were contracted into a ghastly 
brow of woe. 

Here then I have at last a chance to study the nature 
of sea-sickness from experience. I had received different 
prescriptions to prevent it, but all to no purpose. No 
amount of firmness or precaution can evade it. We had 
old seamen on board who had to surrender. It produ- 
ces a sensation of indescribable nausea. It is the quin- 



THE DANGERS OF THE SEA. 3 

tessence of disgust, and imparts to all objects the power 
to excite loathing. It strips a man of all patience and 
energy. And while you have it, the ship swings you 
still into a worse mood. I had it for forty-eight hours, 
during which I repented most bitterly of my folly in 
going upon the sea. Visions of home and many kind 
friends floated before my mind, and I thought if I only 
were back, I would gladly permit tourists to have the 
Atlantic Ocean and all beyond, entirely to themselves. 
This may provoke a smile, but Leonidas himself, hero 
as he was, would have done the same. For how can a 
man resist its potent influence, when it has power to make 
him the embodiment of physical and moral emptiness, 
and convert all his sensibilities into agents of loathing'. 

Our second day out was the Sabbath. And the sec- 
ond day at sea, on one's first voyage, commonly finds 
him in a very peevish mood. " They that go down to 
the sea in ships," above all others, ought to be in a devout 
frame of mind. For the sea hath no joists on which you 
can safely stand. Between yourself and the great deep 
there is but a plank. And to hear this creak and crash 
in every fibre, during a storm, you wonder that it does 
not drop you into eternity. When there is a fire, of 
which there is great danger, you cannot run away from 
it into the street or find shelter with your neighbor. 
Either burn up or plunge to the bottom of the sea : be- 
tween these two you have your choice, and a sad choice 
it is. Should your ship be wrecked in a storm, you 
have at best only a life-boat for a refuge ; and a life-boat 
in mid ocean, in nine cases out of ten, proves a death- 
boat. 

Surely on this "great and wide sea," where "go the 



4 SEA SICKNESS. 

ships," one must always feel in a praying mood. Alas ! 
not always. At least not always on the second day out. 
Like a boy's first lessons on stilts, vainly trying to teach 
the joints, limbs and muscles to steady the body on the 
poles, so the stomach, liver and head of a land faring man 
try to learn walking over the waves of the sea in a ship. 
The vessel gallops in long swinging jumps over the 
waves ; you try to walk on deck, but " reel to and fro, 
and stagger like a drunken man, and are at your wits' 
end," as the Psalmist has it, who must certainly have 
been terribly sea-sick on the Mediterranean, in his time. 
Psalm cvii. 23-30. You will no doubt " cry unto the 
Lord" in your berth. But it may be difficult to keep 
your praying mind off your squeamish stomach. In 
sea-sickness one is fit for the society of neither God nor 
man. You are surly, peevish, trying to creep in upon 
yourself, where the drooping soul can brood over its own 
bitterness. And the trouble is that no one gives you 
sympathy. When one is dangerously ill, he enjoys the 
sweet sympathy and prayers of good people. But who 
will pray for a man suffering from the toothache, or 
sympathize with a groaning sea-sick voyager? A godly 
soul thus afflicted will be harassed with a sense of its 
naughty mood — will feci worried that it cannot keep up 
a calm, serene frame of mind. Indeed one's better na- 
ture seems to forsake him. ''Where in the world the 
soul goes to under such influences nobody knows ; one 
would really think the sea tipped it all out of a man, 
just as it does the water out of his wash-basin." 

In such a mood I spent my first Sunday on the At- 
lantic. Bouncing hither and thither in my berth, like a 
cork in a tub of water, ignorant of my fellow passengers, 



AN UNKNOWN VOYAGER. 5 

indeed morosely indifferent as to who they were or what 
might become of them. I heard no singing, and conclu- 
ded that there could have been no religious services held. 

By the following Sunday I was myself again — had 
learned to walk over the waves with a steady step and a 
calm stomach. Meanwhile I could take my social bear- 
ings ; become acquainted with my neighbors ; with the 
gentlemen sleeping under my bed, and the members of 
this ship family. All manner of people were mixed 
together. Most delightful days were spent with people 
I had never seen, and may never see again till the Judg- 
ment day. An unclerical-looking traveling apparel, and 
a soft felt hat, with a broad brim, helped to disguise my 
profession. Surely no one knows me here. I will move 
among the people as an unknown voyager. Thus I did, 
and very pleasantly. Towards the close of the week I 
was conversing with a Pennsylvanian who had over- 
heard some one calling me byname. " Is such your 
name?" he inquired. "You wrote this, and you lived 
there, etc?" Then the secret was out; but still only 
among a few. On Saturday morning Captain Eldridge 
and some of the passengers invited me to conduct pub- 
lic worship the following day. 

Cards hung at different places announced that relig- 
ious services would be held in the large dining Saloon, 
at 1 P. M. It was a beautiful day. The sea was calm. 
The sails hung loosely down as in a lull. The ship had 
no motion, save what little the action of the machinery 
produced. At one P. M. the ship's bell rang for ser- 
vices. The sailors devoutly sat atone endoftheS;i- 
loon. The larger part of the people aboard filled the 
room. The Episcopal common prayer book was handed 



6 A SERMON ON THE SHIP. 

round, from whose collection of hymns we sang. A 
group of excellent singers from New York and Boston 
led the singing. 

Not without some misgivings I left my state room 
for the place of worship. Would not the little swinging 
of the vessel embarrass me ? While waiting for my ar- 
rival, not a few of the congregation inquired : " Who is 
to preach ? There is no clergyman on board ? Is he a 
clergyman ?" was asked by many, as I took my seat by 
a small stand at one end of the apartment. A Bible 
and prayer book lay thereon. Fortunately it stood aside 
of the main mast, against which I unsteadily leaned du- 
ring the sermon. 

We sang " Rock of Ages cleft for me," and " Guide 
me, O thou great Jehovah," and sang them well. For 
here it was easy to feel the need of Jehovah's guidance. 

The text was taken from Jeremiah xii. 5 : " What 
wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan ?" I spoke of the 
social pleasure we had enjoyed during the preceding 
week. That we hailed from different, far distant coun- 
tries, and, though accustomed to worship God in our 
churches at home, had never mingled our hearts and 
voices in prayer and j^raise on the great deep. That if 
we wished to taste the pleasures of Christian communion 
we must go into the wide, wide world, and learn how in 
every true Christian we meet, we find "a brother, a sis- 
ter, and a mother," who will love us because we love 
Christ. 

I tried to explain what the text directly meant, and 
applied its truths to individual souls. , To reach the Ca- 
naan on high we must cross the Jordan of death. This 
crossing may come upon us suddenly and unexpectedly, 



A SUNDAY DINNEK. 7 

We need a pilot to take us across, such as Joshua was to 
the ancient Jews. This pilot is Christ. I urged them 
to enter this " Ark of Safety/' to choose Him for the 
steersman of their soul's bark ; reminded them how by 
the mercy of God, after a few days, our good ship At- 
lantic should reach the harbor, and we separate, perhaps 
no more to meet till we shall reach the port of the Ca- 
naan above : 

" Where everlasting spring abides, 

And never-with'riug flow'rs ; 

Death, like a narrow sea, divides 

This heav'nly land from ours." 

When I noticed some of the poor weather-stained 
tars intently leaning forward to catch what I said, I for- 
got the annoying motions of the ship. 

Many kindly and grateful words did I receive for 
my awkward sermon. The favorable surprise was not 
owing so much to what I said, as that a man apparelled 
like a California gold digger should undertake to say 
anything at all on such an occasion. 

Captain Eldridge set a good table. And his Sunday 
dinners were unusually sumptuous. The services ended, 
and after spending an hour in reading, the dinner bell 
rang. Usually from one to two hours were spent at 
the table. Presently a servant placed a goblet of spark- 
ling champagne aside of my plate with the compliments 
of Captain Eldridge. A few minutes later another ser- 
vant brought a second glass, with the compliments of a 
wealthy Californian. Think of having two tall glasses 
of foaming champagne aside of your plate in the pres- 
ence of a great company, to whom you have just broken 
the bread of life. Both gentlemen meant it kindly. 



8 A SUNDAY IN MID OCEAN. 

Different people use different methods to express their 
gratitude. These expressed theirs through a glass of 
wine. Doubtless supposing that I had been somewhat 
fatigued by my ministrations, they must propose their 
method of composing body and spirit. Back of the gob- 
lets I saw a kindly intention, more refreshing to me 
than wine. Of the wine I sipped but very little, yet 
took care not to wound the motive of the giver. 

The day passed pleasantly, without a jarring note, 
save the rude, boisterous behavior of two half-drunken 
men, recently appointed by our Government as foreign 
Consuls. We had Jews and Gentiles, many very worldly 
people on board, but none who made such brutes of 
themselves as these two representatives of the American 
Government. How unfortunate that so often the moral 
scum of our country should be sent to represent us 
among the nations of the earth ! 

On Sunday the sailors, in their greasy work-day 
clothes, were very orderly — indeed always were. Here 
and there one had a book or paper. Others gathered in 
groups around some one spinning out his harmless yarns. 
"Do you like sea-life?" I inquired of one. "No, sir." 
" Have you a family ?" 

"Yes, a wife and children in America." 
"Why do you go to sea then, if you don't like it?" 
"When I am on sea, I resolve never to board an- 
other ship after I get home. And after I am home a 
few weeks, I am home-sick for the sea." 

A strange unsettled life do these voyagers on the 
deep lead. But few ever lay anything by for a rainy 
day. Many spend all their earnings for strong drink 
every time they come ashore. As a rule they are beyond 



SAFELY ASHOKE. 9 

the pale of the Christian Church, rarely finding access to 
her ministrations, save the occasional services held on 
board the ship. 

When we sailed up the Mersey we passed a steamer 
having a band on deck who, upon seeing that we were 
Americans, saluted us with " Yankee Doodle," to which 
our crew responded with a deafening roar of applause. 
We had to disembark in the middle of the Mersey on 
account of the low tide, where we had to pass muster be- 
fore the custom-house officer. When I saw him pitch- 
ing into large trunks and running his hands into pack- 
ages of other men's property, I felt thankful for the 
prospect of disappointing him with my little hand-bag. 
Some of the crew looked rather crest-fallen when he 
took from them American reprints of British authors. 

Upon entering a strange country, a person sees many 
things which present a singular contrast to the customs 
of his own — things pleasant and painful, ludicrous and 
grave. Here we were confronted by wretched-looking 
women leading diminutive donkeys through the streets 
hitched into large carts, and boys running after us offer- 
ing to black our boots. The waiters at the Adelphi 
have all the appearance of learned and eminent divines. 
Intelligent, dignified, grave-looking gentlemen, all 
dressed in the finest black with white cravats. A per- 
son feel* very awkward at first to be waited on by 
such superior looking men. It would seem more natu- 
ral to listen quietly to their counsel than trouble them 
with the business of meat and drink. 

We reached Liverpool in a few hours less than eleven 
days, which was a short trip, especially as we had to sail 
one degree farther south than usual on account of the 



10 A FEAST OF GRATITUDE. 

ice. We saw no icebergs, and had a smooth run for the 
season. It was but a short time to be oat of sight of 
land, and yet it seemed long. My heart leaped for joy 
when I first saw, through the dim distance, the rock- 
bonnd coast of Ireland. And when we sailed along the 
western coast of England, it was truly refreshing to see 
farm houses and green fields again. On the last day the 
captain gave a complimentary dinner. After the cloth 
had been removed, toasts were given and speeches made. 
While the rest were merry in their own way, I was 
humming praise to God for His merciful protection and 
the prospect of getting on shore the next day. And yet, 
such a singular compound is man, when it came to leav- 
ing the boat I felt sad. I formed acquaintances from 
whom I regretted to part. And I had just rightly passed 
into the sunny side of my voyage when it terminated. 

Taking all together, my acquaintance with old ocean 
has not raised it much in my estimation. The old say- 
ing is that familiarity breeds contempt, but with the 
ocean it breeds disgust. Here, if ever, 

" 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view." 
The farther off the fairer. It is one thing to study and 
admire its qualities in books, and another thing to be 
cooped in a berth for days reeling with the bitter heavi- 
ness of its tortures. Viewed from this point of observa- 
tion, its poetry vanishes. It becomes prosy adtumseam. 

The scenery on the sea soon becomes tiresome. Save 
the appearance of an occasional sail in the remote dis- 
tance, there is nothing to relieve its monotony. No hard 
beaten highway to show the way onr fathers crossed. 
But all a trackless watery waste, where every keel 
ploughs its own path, only to close up again forever. To 



OCEAN SCENERY. 11 

one who is not an amphibious seaman, whose taste and 
predilections have been formed on land, such scenery is 
more novel than pleasant. The horizon at sea always 
appears elevated, so that a person seems to be in the cen- 
tre of a lake, far depressed below its circumference, 
where the boat constantly tries to paddle up one of its I 
sides, without getting any nearer the edge of it. 



CHAPTERII. 



EDINBURG. ITS MONUMENTS. SUNDAY. DR. CAND- 
LISH. DR. GUTHRIE. 



On my way to Edinburg I became acquainted with 
a gentleman from this city, who, when he heard that I 
was from America, went with me to several hotels to as- 
sist me in procuring comfortable quarters. It may have 
seemed a trifling act to him, but, stranger as I was, it 
made an impression which will enable me to hold him in 
most pleasant and grateful remembrance. We passed 
many busy farmers and their grazing flocks along the 
road from Liverpool hither. Singing birds, budding 
trees and green meadows surround one with the joyous 
indications of opening spring. Here, as in America, 
" the winter is past and gone ; the time for the singing 
of birds has come, and the flowers appear on the earth 
again." 

Edinburg is the first place since I landed where I 
have felt comfortably at home. I did so the first hour 
that I spent here. Its inhabitants are no Mammon 
worshippers. It is noted for its exalted worth and in- 
fluence, its moral and intellectual activity. It is the 
northern Athens, the monumental city of Great Britain. 
In addition to its world-renowned University, it has a 
great many charitable schools and academies, supported 
by munificent endowments. 

The old town of Edinburg has not much to commend 
it either in appearance or comfort. Its streets are mostly 

12 



SCOTCH HOSPITALITY. 13 

narrow, and its buildings old, some of them from three 
to four hundred years. But the new town, with its 
streets of parks and palaces, is truly charming. Its 
monuments exhibit its gratitude for the achievements 
and learning of great men ; its many charitable institu- 
tions — schools, hospitals and asylums — show its benefi- 
cent energy and activity. 

I made the acquaintance of several very agreeable 
families, the ardor of whose hospitality was truly refresh- 
ing. Mr. Clark, member of the Council and bailiff or 
alderman of the city, showed me much kindness. He 
went with me the greater part of a cold and rainy day 
to visit some of the principal public places. And after 
dining with him I spent the evening with his son, one 
of the proprietors of the well known publishing house of 
T. & T. Clark, in Edinburg. 

The Scotch understand the art of hospitality. One 
feels that their friendship is not forced or feigned, but 
natural and spontaneous. They throw their hearts and 
homes open to the Christian pilgrim with cordial frank- 
ness. 

I visited an old grave-yard in this city where Hume, 
the historian, and Ferguson are buried. A monument 
has been erected to Hume, consisting of a circular tower, 
inside of which he and his family lie interred. Within 
the tower hangs a marble tablet, on which the names of 
Hume and his family are inscribed, and above these the 
passage : " I am the resurrection and the life." A sin- 
gular inscription for a man of his creed. Opposite this 
is Calton Hill, which commands a view of Edinburg 
and surrounding country for a great distance. On its 
summit and side are a number of monuments erected to 



14 MONUMENTS OF EDINBURG. 

Lord Nelson, Professor Playfair, Dugalt Steward and 
Burns. The grandest and most costly monument in the 
city is that erected to Sir Walter Scott. There is an 
equestrian statue here of the Duke of Wellington, which 
struck me as possessing great merit. His face bears the 
stamp of intense anxiety, yet aglow with calm and in- 
trepid fortitude. He points to the left with his right 
hand, giving orders to his army, while his steed champs 
his bit and rears up, with fiery impatience, for action. 
He teems with life and excitement from every pore. His 
muscles swell and his veins protrude as if the blood 
were ready to gush from his body. One only wonders 
that such a wild, ungovernable animal can be kept on 
the block. 

Holyrood Palace, the abode of royalty, the residence 
of the queen whenever she visits the North, is at the ex- 
treme end of the city. Its gallery of paintings is hung 
round with one hundred reputed kings and queens of 
Scotland, from the misty times of Fergus I. to the end of 
the Stuart dynasty. To the student of history, however, 
Holyrood Palace is chiefly interesting from having been 
occupied by the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots. On 
the first floor are Lord Darnley's apartments, a bed 
room and two small turret rooms. One of these could 
be approached by a private stairway, through which the 
assassins of Riccio were admitted into Darnley's room. 
Ascending a flight of stairs we got into Mary's apart- 
ments. The first is her audience chamber, whose walls 
are hung with ancient tapestry, the colors of which have 
almost been effaced by the hand of time. At one end 
stands an ancient, moth-eaten bed, over 400 years old, 
on whose pillows weary royalty has often rested. 



HOLYROOD PALACE. 15 

Charles I. and Charles II. slept in it ; but their bed, 
like many of their deeds, has poorly stood the test of 
time. Time and moth have worn it more than kings 
and princes. In this room Mary had her altercations 
with John Knox, who thundered from the pulpit against 
the Papacy in general, and against Mary and her mar- 
riage in particular. Here he harangued the Queen so 
roughly for her creed, that she deplored her fate and 
wept bitterly. This room opens into her bed room, 
where stands her identical bed, the decayed hangings of 
which are of crimson damask, with green silk fringes 
and tassels. Here is a box of needle-work, wrought by 
her own hands. The historical and romantic associations 
that cluster around this room render it the most inter- 
esting apartment in Scotland. This chamber communi- 
cates with two small rooms, one of which was her sup- 
ping room. Here lies the complete armor of Lord 
Darnley, and a piece of marble from Mary's alter-piece, 
which Knox destroyed. Here occurred the assault upon 
her unfortunate Italian secretary. "About seven in the 
evening Mary was seated in this little room, at o3e of 
those small supper parties, with Riccio and a number of 
her royal friends. Suddenly the door of the private 
stairway opened, the assassins rushed in, overthrowing 
the table and leaving the dagger in the body of Riccio. 
They dragged him through the other apartments to the 
head of the larger stairway, where they left him, pierced 
with fifty-six wounds." The blood is still shown on the 
floor, w r hose identity, however, may be a question. 
I crept up through the narrow private stairway through 
which the assassins entered her room, but the little door 
would not open for me. I had often read this bloody 



16 THE HOUSE OF JOHN KNOX. 

page of Mary's history, but never with such intense in- 
terest as when I pondered over it in the halls where it 
occurred. We cannot help but pity her weakness, but 
who would deny her the praise due her virtues. I visit- 
ed her room in Edinburg Castle, where she gave birth 
to James VI. On the wall is inscribed in gilt letters 
one of her simple, child-like prayers. And in an ad- 
joining room is exhibited the crown of Scotland, the 
occasion of her darkest and most distressing calamities. 

This Castle is the most ancient and prominent build- 
ing in the city. The daughters of the PictLsh kings 
were educated within its walls, from which it was called 
"the Camp of the Maidens." It is built on a rocky 
eminence, 383 feet above the level of the sea, and is ap- 
parently impregnable. During the early period of Scot- 
tish history it was successively taken and retaken by 
hostile parties. 

The house of John Knox is regarded as an object of 
rare curiosity, both for its antiquity and former occu- 
pant. It was erected before the discovery of America — 
1490. I have seen houses not twenty years old that 
look worse and more time-worn than this. It is built of 
stone, but firm enough to stand two thousand years yet. 
I was shown the window through which Knox was fired 
at by some assassin, and sat me on his identical chair in 
his study, where the fiery reformer prepared his ful mi- 
nous sermons and writings against the Papacy. After 
the moss of a few more ages will have gathered on its 
hoary walls, this building may become an interesting 
relic of Protestant antiquity, as it now already is a shrine 
for Protestant pilgrims. 

The Advocates Library contains about 160,000 vol- 



THE ADVOCATES LIBRARY. 17 

umes of ancient and modern works. I strolled through 
its alcoves and labyrinth of rooms, until I had a diffi- 
culty to find my way back. I almost felt like walking 
along the aisles of a grave-yard, where the gray stones 
mark the resting-places of those who, though dead, yet 
speak. There is something appalling in the idea of 
posthumous influence. If a man sows literary tares 
there would be some comfort to know that they would 
die with his body. But their vitality perpetuates and 
multiplies itself to an incredible extent. To the cham- 
pion of truth and righteousness this thought becomes an 
encouraging stimulus to persevering activity. What an 
amount of labor, anxiety and weariness must these piles 
of learning have cost ! What waning of the midnight 
taper, and wading through massive, musty volumes of 
ancient lore ! What longings for thousands of ap- 
plauding readers, who would gratefully weave for them 
a coronet of fame ! A few lived to receive a meagre re- 
ward — many were rewarded with poverty and neglect, 
and died amid want. Now publishers, made rich by 
the sweat of the poor author's brow, rear costly monu- 
ments to their memory. What a pity that merit is so 
often the heir of distress, and is so tardily rewarded. 
Yes, this library is a literary vault, where each work 
fills the niche of the author, and tells its epitaph, wheth- 
er he wrought good or ill, or both. 

There is a case in the library containing relics of 
historical interest. Among others the original manu- 
script of " Waverly," in Walter Scott's own hand-wri- 
ting. Some words are erased with a scratch of the pen, 
as a person generally does in revising a manuscript. It 
is written on every alternate page, the blank pages being 
2 



18 THE MUSEUM OF THE UNIVERSITY. 

used for notes and addenda. It also contains letters of 
Charles I., one of which I have transcribed, which ap- 
pears to have been written to his father when he was at 
school, and reads as follows : 

" Sweete Sweete Father i learne to decline substantives and 
adiectives give me your blessing i thank you for my best man. 
" Your louvely Son YORK.'" 

The library also contains the original confession and 
protest of the Covenanters, signed in 1580, and some 
very crooked, trembling autographs. Some are said to 
have written their names with blood, extracted from 
their fingers. 

I passed through the museum of the University, 
containing an extensive collection of animal and mineral 
specimens. As I "entered the first floor, a huge crocodile 
from the Nile, and ferocious-looking lions, tigers, hye- 
nas, bears and wolves were grinning at me with eyes 
flashing for prey, so that I started back with a shudder. 
It answers all the purposes of a complete zoological gar 
den, containing hundreds of rare and curious animals, 
some from species entirely extinct. One of the cases 
contains an egg of a bird from Madagascar, now extinct, 
which is said to have been thirteen feet in height. The 
label says the egg is as large as one hundred and forty- 
six of a common fowl. 

It was a charming Sunday morning, toward the end 
of April. In the new city where I was quartered, not a 
sound could be heard, or sight seen to disturb the sacred 
quietness of the day. No wagon, dray or workman, was 
in sight. For several hours in the morning the streets 
were almost wholly deserted. Then came groups from 
out of every door of the blocks of the palatial dwellings. 



EDINBURG TENDENCIES. 19 

Not only all the men, but nearly all the ladies seemed 
to be dressed in black. Along the clean pavemente 
church-going people continuously streamed hither and 
thither, for at least one hour. And eveiy stream in 
every street tended towards some house of worship. 

At this time there happened to be a traveling skeptic 
in Edinburg, who was determined not to enter a church, 
or pay the least deference to the religious habits of the 
God-fearing Edinburgers. Yet, as the morning was so in- 
viting, he must sally through the town. Soon he drifts 
into one of these street-currents. Having nothing else 
to do, he consents to be listlessly borne along by it, 
whether to some park, theatre, or elsewhere. Ere long 
he discovers to his chagrin, that the stream floats him to 
the door of a large church. He turns away, not a little 
out of .humor, and soon falls in with another current, 
which again carries him to a church. He tries it the third 
time, with a similar result. At length he growlingly 
works himself out of these street tendencies, remarking 
that in Edinburg it was vain to resist the current ; take 
it where you would, it was sure to bear you off to 
church. 

About three-fourths of the Edinburg population is 
Presbyterian. The three main bodies are the Estab- 
lished, the Free and the United Presbyterian churches. 
These three hold the Communion twice a year on the same 
day, in all their churches. I happened to be here on 
one of these Communion days. In the morning I at- 
tended worship in Dr. Candlish's church. He is the 
leading Theologian in the Free Kirk, as it is called. 
The vast building was densely packed with a solemn, 
sombre-looking congregation, all arrayed in black, like a 



20 CONGREGATIONAL SINGING. 

sorrowful funeral assemblage. After standing in the 
aisle for a little while, a clerical friend, whom I had 
met in the old house of John Knox, the day previous, 
invited me into his pew. 

The church contained two pulpits. Aside of the 
principal one, and a little below it, was a smaller pulpit. 
In it sat a dignified gentleman, in a black gown and 
white surplice or neck band. Can he be Dr. Candlish ? 
Soon a small, stout gentleman, in a large, black flowing 
robe, ascended the stairway of the main pulpit, with a 
swinging, unsteady walk. He announced a hymn, or 
rather a Psalm, from Rouse's version. For these 
Scotch Presbyterians sing naught but the Psalms of 
David, and only those which Rouse has arranged. After 
the announcing of the hymn, the robed leader arose in his 
small pulpit, and with a drawling and nasal voioe raised 
the tune. Soon the combined voices of the great con- 
gregation sounded forth in a grand song of praise. 
Their collection of Psalms is not large, and the tunes 
used are familiar to all. The children all learn to sing 
them in their week day schools, and at family worship. 
Thus every member learns to sing the church hymns. 
And they all do sing with a will. One forgets the 
faults of an ungifted leader, and the musical blunders of 
rude worshippers here and there, amid the grand and 
glorious song of such a congregation. 

The preacher's prayer was a faultless composition, 
containing more elegance of diction than devotion. Yet 
devotion, too, for those whose hearts and minds were 
* more accustomed to this style of worship. Although 
the prayer was long, the whole congregation stood to 
the close of it. 



A SERMON ON THE RESURRECTION. 21 

He read part of the eleventh chapter of John. The 
announcing of the chapter produced a rustling of leaves 
throughout the congregation — most a singular noise to 
my ears, after such marked and solemn silence. Every 
worshipper, so far as I could notice, had a pocket Bible, 
and turned to the chapter when announced, and fol- 
lowed the preacher reading it. And whenever he cited 
a passage during the sermon, giving chapter and verse, 
the rustling was repeated, every one turning to the 
chapter and carefully reading it. This habit cultivates 
a close attention to the sermon, and increases the fund of 
Scripture knowledge on the part of the hearers. 

The preacher's text was John xi. 25, 26. His theme 
was the resurrection, considered as an event and as a state. 
He remarked that the resurrection of the body was not 
simply a resuscitation, but the budding and develop- 
ment of a new life, previously implanted in the believer. 
Where this new life is wanting, men rise "unto damna- 
tion," as they have lived. In this world and in the 
world to come, the life of the believer is one life ; one 
unbroken thread which God has joined in vital con- 
tinuity ; let not man put it asunder. The resurrection is 
not a cause, but an effect. At the believer's regenera- 
tion he receives the cause. His later life contains eras 
or stages of evolution. His death is one of these eras; 
an advance on what preceded; a tearing or growing 
away from an inferior or a worse estate, and on that 
account painful. The resurrection is the final era, the 
completion of regeneration. 

What about the state between death and the resur- 
rection? David and Ezekiel shrunk from death, not so 
much because they were ignorant or skeptical of the res- 



22 DR. GANDLISH. 

urrection, but from fear of the dreaded vacancy of 
the state intermediate. This was the great difficulty 
with the Old Testament saints. The 26th verse settles 
this point. " He shall never die." "To be absent from 
the body is to be present with the Lord." 

I could well see that this man had not the fear of 
heresy-hunters before his eyes. A thorough scholar, an 
independent thinker, and one of the most awkward 
public speakers I have ever listened to. His bushy, 
raven locks partly conceal his fine intellectual forehead. 
He pouted his lips, knit his fine brow into a forbidding 
frown, and swung his stout, small person into all man- 
ner of strange postures. He read closely, and rolled his 
person over his manuscript, from one side to the other, 
with a fidgety, nervous motion of his right hand, as if 
he knew not where to put it. And yet, having neither 
manner, oratory nor elocution to commend him, he riv- 
eted the attention of his large congregation for one hour ; 
the beauty of his thoughts, and the force of his style, 
more than compensating for the defects of delivery. 

Like some other Protestant bodies, these Scotch 
churches try to guard against admitting persons of 
known wicked habits to the Communion table. All 
communicants must previously report their intention 
either to the pastor, or some specified church officers. If 
they are known to possess a Christian character, they 
receive a small coin, called a "token," which they hand 
to the proper person, in connection with the Communion 
service. Those that have no "tokens" cannot commune. 

Now it seems that I happened into a part of the 
church occupied by the communicants. Of the " token" 
arrangement I was wholly ignorant. As I rose to leave 



COMMUNION TOKENS. 23 

the church, a venerable elder, with a solemn mien, held 
a small basket at me at the door of the pew. It seems 
he was collecting the "tokens," instead of the Commu- 
nion offering, as I thought. The good man, amid the 
passing throng around him, vainly tried to tell me, in 
his broad Scotch dialect, that he wished to have my 
" token," and stoutly demanded it before he would let 
me pass, and I as stoutly refused to give it, for the good 
reason that I knew not what he said. I have no doubt, 
the elder took me to be either a very wicked, or a very 
ill-mannered person, as I passed him without heeding his 
request. 

From there I hastened to Dr. Guthrie's church, 
hoping still to enjoy part of the services. Around long, 
plain tables in the aisles, spread with a white cloth, the 
communicants gathered, as the custom is in Presbyterian 
churches. At the close of each table a certain minister 
delivered a very long and a very dry address to the 
guests. There were many tables, and many guests at 
each table. I was taken to a seat in the gallery. The 
church was a very large and very plain structure. In 
style somewhat after the meeting-house fashion. No 
ornament of any kind could anywhere be seen. But an 
air of comfort was everywhere perceptible. The whole 
interior was commodiously arranged. There was no 
organ and no choir. A precentor near the pulpit raised 
the tune of the hymns, and the whole congregation, sev- 
eral thousand people, swelled the sweet song. The clerk, 
or precentor, wore a black gown and a white neck-band. 
Each hymn is here 1 always sung to the same tune. The 
whole congregation seemed to be familiar with the tunes. 
Nearly all the ladies were dressed in black, like a con- 



'J J DR. GUTHRIE. 

gregation of mourners. Although the services were 
very protracted, and the addresses, to my mind at least, 
uninteresting and unedifying, the vast congregation kept 
very devout to the elose. I eould not help but think 
that here were hundreds of sanctified people, temples of 
the Holy Ghost, built of " lively stones," which gave 
this flock more enduring beauty than the costliest archi- 
tecture eould furnish. From the gallery I had a good 
view of the venerable gentleman in the pulpit. He had 
on a black robe and white meek-band. Patiently he sat 
through the long service, now and then reaching for 
his box and taking a snuff. He seemed to be in a 
sort of reverie, his mind apparently running on some- 
whither, uneonseious of what was going on around him. 
Perhaps his faith bore his thoughts to the perfeet com- 
munion of the redeemed in Heaven. Alas, I am too 
late to hear him preach, thought I. 

At length the Communion ends. The minister in 
the pulpit rises to speak. A tall, slender, erect figure, 
not yet bowed by the many burdens of life. Slightly 
grey, his face pale, not with a sickly pallor, his limbs 
long, with such arms and hands as make gracefulness in 
a public speaker difficult. Albeit, this man used his 
most gracefully. His features bearing the lines of sor- 
row and severe toil. Age heralding its approach. 

"Arise, and let us go hence." John 14: 31. Thus he 
began his seemingly off-hand address. For about fif- 
teen minutes he spoke as he only could. Without im- 
passioned fervor or excitement, only here and there, an apt 
gesture with his long arms, his voice pitched in an easy 
tone, could be distinctly heard in every part of the vast 
building. A voice by no means powerful, yet clear, 



A COMMUNION ADDRESS. 25 

pleasantly modulated, having a distinct utterance. Noth- 
ing studied, no affectation, no flashes of oratory, or 
straining to produce effect, but a fatherly talk to his 
spiritual children. Telling them what it meant for them 
to "Arise, and go hence." How thankful I felt for 
that brief address; that glimpse of the noble Scotch- 
man. Whenever I think of Dr. Guthrie, it is as I saw 
him on that Spring Sunday in his Edinburg pulpit, 
speaking affectionate words of fatherly counsel to his 
people. He knew not that thereby he gave a blessing 
to a stranger from a far country, sitting in the gallery. 

These two leaders of the Edinburg pulpit, present 
striking contrasts of character and genius. Candlish is a 
thinker and profound theologian, thoroughly imbued 
with German theology. In spite of his forbidding de- 
livery he attracts a large intellectual congregation around 
him. Guthrie possesses the elements of a cultivated 
pulpit orator, simple in style, and with a pleasing man- 
ner of delivery, whom the common people hear gladly. 
He is the. Clay of the Scotch pulpit, and in Theology 
an out and out Scotch Presbyterian. 

In the evening I worshipped at the College Church. 
A stout, large- whiskered Scotch D. D. preached on 
Rev. xxi. 22. He assigned four reasons why there 
would be no temple in Heaven : 1. The symbol of the 
Divine presence will be displaced by God's immediate 
presence. 2. The sacrifices and ceremonies will be dis- 
placed by the completion of the great sacrifice of Christ, 
3. The instruction and knowledge immediately given by 
God and the Lamb will take the place of that imparted 
in the temple. 4. The eternal Sabbath in Heaven will 
take the place of the sacred places and seasons on earth. 



** 



26 NEW EDINBURG. 

The^e large crowded churches, with great preachers 
and grand singing, are in the new city. The old and 
new city are divided by a narrow valley or ravine. 
Many centuries ago this ravine was a lake, or at least a 
marsh. Now two bridges span it, connecting the old 
city with the new. The new is pervaded with an air of 
gentility, neatness, and comfort. The streets and pave- 
ments are clean and wide. The houses are large, giving 
it the appearance of a city of palaces. Here public 
opinion requires all decent people to go to church and 
behave themselves. This is a condition of respectability. 
The people you meet on the street seem decorous and 
dignified. You rarely meet a drunken person ; indeed 
there are comparatively few places where liquor is sold. 
Albeit not all these sturdy Scotch churchmen are tee- 
totalers. A prominent elder, after kindly taking me to 
the noted places of the city, offered me a glass of wine at 
his own table. 

Let us cross one of these bridges, and pass over into 
the old town. It is called Cowgate. Centuries ago it 
was the abode of princes and the nobles of the land. 
Here lived John Knox. A filthier, wickeder, and 
more besotted place than Cowgate, it would be difficult 
to find in any Christian country. The streets are nar- 
row, and mostly without side-walks. Filth under foot, 
and over head, on hands, faces and clothing of the 
people; filth without and within, body, mind, and 
spirit are dirty and depraved. They abound in dram- 
shops, and boisterous, ragged drunken people. No- 
where in Europe, Asia or Africa, in Mohammedan or 
Christian countries, have I seen the like of this old town 
of Edinburg. Some twenty years ago Guthrie left a 



THE COAVGATE. 27 

comfortable country parish to become a missionary in 
Cowgate. He says, that in beginning his work "It 
was more common to find families without Bibles than 
with them. Such was the utterly irreligious state, into 
which they had sunk, that of the first one hundred and 
fifty persons I visited, not more than five, including 
Roman Catholics as well as Protestants, were in the 
habit of attending any place of worship — the more 
shame to those who did, and had left them to perish in 
their sins. I remember a whole day spent in going 
from house to house, or rather from room to room ; each 
room usually housing one, and sometimes two families, 
and being reminded by the only Bible I saw of the 
words of Whiten eld : "I could write damnation in the 
dust which covers your Bible." 

"The room I speak of was occupied by an "under 
woman," as in Edinburg they call those weird-looking 
creatures, who prowl about the streets, late at night, or 
at early morn, raking among the dust heaps for cinders 
which they sell, for potatoes and bits of meat which 
they eat, with the chance of occasionally lighting on a 
gold ring or silver spoon. I found her literally sitting 
"in dust and ashes;" floor, bed, tables, chairs, all else 
coated grey with them. She might have been fasting, 
but it was not from sin ; for on rising to receive me 
when I introduced myself as the minister of the parish, 
she had great difficulty to keep her equilibrium. Though 
remembering the proverb about casting pearls, I could 
not but hint at her habits. This at once set her up. 
She declared herself to be a very religious woman ; and 
seeing me making for the door insisted on my remaining 
to be convinced of that. Staggering across the room she 



28 DEPRAVITY IN EPINBUIU;. 

mounted a chair, from which I every moment expected 
to see her tumble headlong on the floor, to thrust her 
arm to the back of a cupboard and drag out a Bible ! 
This she shook in my face, and flourished over my head, 
sending out a cloud of dust from its rustling leaves. 
This Bible in the hands of a virago was the only one I 
had seen that day; and was it not sad to think, that to 
any part of a city, full of churches, these words could be 
so justly applied, "Darkness covereth the earth, and 
gross darkness the people?" 

He says the tenants of the dirty hovels "were lying over 
the sills of windows innocent of glass, or stuffed with 
old hats and dirty rags ; others, coarse-looking women, 
with squalid children in their arms, or at their feet, 
stood in groups at the close-moutlis — here, with empty 
laughter, chaffing any passing acquaintance — there 
screaming each other down in a drunken brawl, or 
standing sullen and silent, with hunger and ill-usage in 
their saddened looks." 

" My country parish had only one public house, and I 
had come to one where tippling abounded, and the own- 
ers of dram-shops grew like toadstools on the public 
ruin ; with one thousand inhabitants, my country parish 
had but one man who could not read, and I had come 
to one with hundreds who did not know a letter. My 
country parish was not disgraced by one drunken woman, 
and I had come to one where women drank, and scores of 
mothers starved their infants to feed their vices; there 
one might see a darned, but not a ragged coat, here 
backs Mere hung with rags, and the naked, red, cracked, 
ulcered feet of the little shivering creatures trode the icy 
streets ; there but one did not attend church, here but 



HEATHENISM IN THE SCOTCH CAPITAL. 29 

five in the first one hundred and fifty whom I visited ; 
there I found not a house without at least one Bible, 
here many had neither a Bible on the shelf, nor a bed- 
stead on the floor." 

One man he met, sober among drunkards, decent 
among the depraved. His threadbare dress was always 
well brushed; his long white hair nicely combed. He 
prayed, and never missed church, and bore with meek 
resignation the outrages of a drunken wife. "To prevent 
her from selling his Sunday dress for whiskey, he had to 
hand it over to a kind neighbor for safe keeping. His 
house contained hardly a stick of furniture. The walls 
were foul with dust and hung with cobwebs. The air in 
it was close and stifling. In one corner I found a heap of 
straw, on which lay his drunken wife with no covering 
but her ragged clothes — drunk and dying — insensible to 
anything I could tell of Him who pities the worst of sin- 
ners, and can save to the utmost. The death-rattle was 
in her throat; she was hurrying away drunk, to the 
judgment!" 

Such was the Cowgate of Edinburg, twenty years 
ago. It may have undergone some improvement since; 
yet this is not very perceptible. The streets on week- 
days are perfectly hideous. On Sunday, Cowgate seems 
to try in a measure to be put on its good behaviour. The 
contrast between the old and new Edinburg impresses 
the mind with strange emotions. The one a model 
Christian community, intelligent, orderly, pious, Sab- 
bath-keeping; the other ignorant, besotted to the lowest 
degree ; both side by side with only the narrow valley to 
divide them. How is this, that Presbyterian ism in 
Scotland annually gives millions for Home and Foreign 



30 ATTRACTIONS OF EDINBUEG. 

Missions, and prosecutes its work with great success, 
and here has been a stronghold of Satan in its chief city, 
for successive generations, which it will not or can not 
break down? 

Beautiful for situation is this city. Unlike London, 
Paris, and many other large cities, you can see the love- 
ly country from the town. On the hills around it are 
perched castles and monuments, which meet the eye, 
and give one a pleasing outlook from its streets. 



CHAPTER III. 



MELROSE ABBEY. ABBOTTSFORD. LOCH KATRINE. 
LOCH LOMOND. GLASGOW. 



The frequent complaints of tourists had led me to 
approach the British sky and climate with suspicion, but 
I was not prepared to be so completely taken in. It is 
a weakness of open-hearted, inexperienced natures to 
receive the professions of others with credulous sincerity. 
But experience is a skillful teacher. Dame Nature here 
plays the coquette most completely. She is so variable 
and fickle, so disposed to trifle with your sincerity, that 
it is hard to know when she is in earnest. She will 
meet your approaches with the smiles and blandish- 
ments of pleasant sunshine, only to repulse you with a 
shiver or a shower. Perhaps I have met her in an un- 
pleasant mood, but I have seen and felt heat and cold, 
cloudy and clear, rain and sunshine, fruitful and barren 
weather in the course of one hour. The sky does not 
look dark and lowering when it rains, but pretends all 
the while to make an effort to clear up. 'The rays of 
the sun penetrate the clouds like a thin gauze of mist, 
so that even the most undisguised rain does not look so 
very rainy. Sometimes the clouds dividing the clear blue 
sky overhead, assure you that this time there can be no 
possible deception. But scarcely have they lured you be- 
yond the reach of roofs and umbrellas, before they will 
pour down, without any preliminary notice, an extempo- 

.31 



32 MELROSE ABBEY. 

raucous shower that will send you home, repenting your 
credulity most bitterly. Sometimes the rain-drops even 
twinkle in a cloudless sky, as a smile twinkles through 
a tear trembling on a maiden's check. So that with all 
my mortifying situations, I would not willingly have 
forgone the pleasure it afforded me. For a thing may 
be physically uncomfortable, while it is aesthetically 
pleasant. 

It was one of those rainy mornings on which no one 
could mistake the prospects of the weather, that I started 
for Melrose Abbey and Abbottsford, the former thirty- 
seven miles from Edinburg, the latter forty. Having 
fully made up my mind to spend part of the day in the 
raiu, I was not disappointed. Melrose Abbey is sup- 
posed to have been built by Robert the Bruce, in the 
12th century. It was successsively injured and rebuilt 
again during the Scottish wars, and the misdirected zeal 
of the Reformation destroyed a great part of it. Crom- 
well and his army passed along here and made a target of 
it for their amusement, the marks of whose work are still 
visible. Though in ruins, it still remains a magnificent 
specimen of mediaeval art, and the finest relic of Gothic 
architecture in Scotland. Originally it was about four 
hundred feet in length, but one hundred feet of it have 
been razed to the earth by war and Vandalism. The nave 
of the building has been entirely destroyed. There is a 
yard beside it where the monks were in the habit of tak- 
ing exercise; and along the wall there are still stone 
benches where they used to study in the open air. It 
contains a large number of stone busts and statues of 
eminent saints. Some of these are placed along its 
massive walls, supporting huge heavy pillars, signifi- 



ABBOTTSFORD. 33 

cant symbols of the position of Christians in the spirit- 
ual temple of Christ. Surmounting the pillars and 
along the ceiling are sculptured flowers. I noticed one 
of them, surmounting a statue of the Virgin Mary, 
within whose opening petals a jackdaw had made his 
dreary domicil. At present these birds are the sole oc- 
cupants of this remarkable edifice, from whose history 
poetry and romance have so largely borrowed. A 
number of the Scottish nobility are buried within its 
walls, and the grave of the wizard, a prominent character 
in Scott's " Lay of the Last Minstrel," was pointed out 
to me. 

From here I went a-foot to Abbottsford, the home 
of Sir Walter Scott. Though raining, it was a delight- 
ful walk. The road winds through a narrow glen of 
fertile farms, verdant with all the. freshness of early 
vegetation. Abbottsford is situated at the winding 
base of- a hill. The side from which I approached it, 
conceals the buildings until one is almost at the entrance. 
On one side is a meadow bounded by • the river Tweed, 
on the other a large hill, dotted with fields and wood- 
land, all belonging to the Abbottsford farm. The 
scenery all around is just such as a poet would be likely 
to choose to kindle and fan his inspirations. The dif- 
ferent rooms are filled with most curious and rare spe- 
cimens of antiquity ; swords, armor, and weapons of 
knights and ancient warriors — a lamp from the Temple 
of Minerva at Athens, supposed to be 3,000 years old. 
The clothes of Sir Walter are carefully laid in a case ; 
his blue coat with yellow buttons, and his white hat, 
just as Washington Irving described them after his visit 
to Abbottsford, and which are doubtless the same he 
3 



34 A RUN ACROSS THE TWEED. 

then wore. His hat is after the fashion of the fnr summer 
hate worn in America a few years ago. 

Wishing to reach the cars by a nearer route, I did 
no i return to Melrose, but took a different course. I 
had i ot proceeded far until the Tweed interposed. 
Whatever the poetic advantages of bathing in such a 
classic stream might be, I feared that the experiment 
would unfit me to enjoy the sentiment, especially as my 
clothes, dripping with rain, did not increase the desire 
for a hydropathic operation just at that time. Morever, 

y I remembered the adventure of Bayard Taylor, who, 
like myself, being unable to find a boat, waded the 
Tweed, where his conpanion came well nigh making a 
submarine passage or perish in the attempt. At all 
events, I have made it a habit not to meddle with things 
too dee}) for mcj so I wandered up and down the 
famous Tweed for several miles, until I finally spied in 
the distance, on the opposite side, a ferryman and his 
boat, who soon relieved me from my shivering suspense. 
He invited' me into his lowly cottage, and introduced 
me to his "guid wife" as "the tallest American he had 

» every seen." Many an American lias he rowed across 
the Tweed, but they all had been men small in stature. 
1 1 occurred to me as somewhat amusing that whilst I 
was making a pilgrimage to noted shrines, and endured 
all the perplexities of sight-seeing, I could furnish a 
man, living within sight of Abbottsford, with a sight 
whose like he had never seen. The kind lady gave me 
a seat beside her humble hearth ; and whilst she enter- 
tained me with a jug of milk and a piece of bread — a 

$ luxury that could only be appreciated after walking half 
a day through a cold rain — I tried to entertain her by 



a ferryman's house. 35 

answering many curious questions about America. He 
requested me to tell American travelers, and I do pro- 
claim it here, and now, to all whom it may concern, 
that on and after the first day of May, this place will be 
made a railway station, so that all who wish to visit Ab- 
bottsford, can alight at the Abbottsford ferry, within 
sight of it. My friend, the ferryman, will row them 
across the Tweed, and his ladie will give them a resting 
place at her hearth and a glass of milk, if they desire it. 

After another day spent in Edinburg, I set out for 
the Highlands. For once I had a clear, pleasant spring 
day, and I felt sure it would hold out so. It seemed to 
me I had never passed through more delightful rural 
scenery, which contrasted painfully with the drudgery 01 
a number of women in the fields hauling and spreading 
manure. I got a glimpse of Linlithgow Palace as we 
passed along, where Queen Mary was born. Her father, 
James V., was at the palace of Falkland at the time, 
suffering from an injury he had received in a recent 
battle. When he was told the news of Mary's birth, he 
said : " It (the crown) came with a lass (girl) and will go 
with a lass," and then turned his face to the wall and 
soon after died broken-hearted. We soon after reached 
Falkirk, where Wallace fought his memorable battle in 
1298. Next we reached Stirling Castle, where James 
V. and Mary were crowned. Here are preserved the 
pulpit and the Communion table of John Knox. The 
country clustering around Falkirk, was the principal 
battle field of Wallace and Bruce. Its soil is rich with 
the blood of heroes and martyrs, and was the scene of 
freedom's early trials and triumphs. 

At Stirling, after taking a passing view of Stirling 



36 FOOT-SORE. 

Castle, I turned north, through the Highlands for the 
Lakes. It is a principle taught by all sound philosophy, 
that we increase our happiness as we reduce our wants; 

and so I found it. I left home with a light hand-bag, 
containing only a number of the most necessary articles 
of apparel. I find now that I do not need even this 
small wardrobe, and seriously meditate the donation of 
some of it to those who have still less. It is gratifying 
to an American's habits of republican independence, 
that he can go wherever he listeth, without being de- 
pendent on cars, cabs or porters. 80 was it to me. At 
Stirling, I hung the luggage on a staff, flung it over 
my shoulders, and sallied off for the Highlands with a 
nimble step. It was the first of May, on which young 
men and maidens go a-Maying in America. And many 
a May-flower greeted me along the heathes and hedges by 
the wayside. It worked admirably until my feet became 
sore, and at the end of twelve miles my zeal for walking- 
had measurably abated. 1 limped over the last mile 
with insupportable tribulation, my feet burning as if I 
were stepping on coals of fire. I sat me by the way 
side, trying to invent a plan of escape from my pedes- 
trian defeat, 'flic fact is, I had entered upon this expe- 
dition somewhat rashly. I overrated my powers of en- 
durance; and now three miles from the nearest hotel, it 
was a problem of great moment to me, just there and 
then, how to reach it. Neither lodging nor boarding 
could be had short of that. J applied for a morsel at a 
little hut, but the poor woman said they had nothing for 
themselves. Here, then, I had reached the first trial 
that was beyond the range of my ordinary experience. 
Whilst pondering with philosophic composure over my 



A RIDE ON A COAL CART. 37 

fate, a poor carter came along with a most sorry-looking 
horse, tottering under a large load of coal, [applied 
for a passage to the next, town, to which he readily con- 
sented. It was hard to submit to such a seat, but mak- 
ing a virtue of necessity, I mounted the cart, and was 
soon on in v way again to Callander. Never had 1 attracted 
more attention since I landed in Great Britain. Men 
paused at their toil, women and children ran to the door 
and stared at me with astonishment. Many curious 
questions had the carter to answer respecting his extra- 
ordinary passenger. For my apparel showed that I 
had seen better days. I could not help hut think of the 
Knight of the Sorrowful Figure, and our half-starved 
horse was a worthy representative of Rosinante, whilst 
my guide treated me with as much ceremony and def- 
erence as ever Sancho Pan/a did his valiant master. 
These little adventures form episodes in a man's ex- 
perience, more pleasant to remember than to endure. 

A good night's rest restored my usual vigor, and 
early next morning I was approaching the classic Loch 
Katrine. I wound my way leisurely through the gorge, 
where the gallant steed of Fit/ James stumbled as his 
rider pursued in eager chase the nimble stag, fell over a 
rock and was killed. Right here I had the good fortune to 
chase a deer, which leaped over the crags and cliffs, and 
then stopped a while to take a view of his pursuer. A 
fleet horse might have enabled me to realize the; poet's 
dream. 1 hired two men who rowed me to the upper 
end of Loch Katrine, a distance of ten miles. Here, 
then, I am at length floating on the crystal lake, over 
which the lovely Pollen Douglas steered her skipping 
bark, 






38 LOCH KATKLNE. 

Loch Katrine is from ten to twelve miles in length, 
four hundred feet above the level of the sea, and in 
some parts five hundred feet deep. 1 drank copious 
draughts of its clear, fresh water, which acted as a stimu- 
lant to reverie and sentiment. By the way, the Vandal 
hand of progress is about diverting its sweet waters 
to the profane purposes of washing and cooking. 
The city of Glasgow is constructing an acqueduet 
through mountains, moors and glens, for upwards of 
thirty miles, to draw from it a supply of fresh water for 
its inhabitants. We soon reached " Kllen's Isle," the 
lovely abode of the "Lady of the Lake." It looks like 
a colored diamond set in crystal, an enchanting little 
spot, a veritable Isle of Beauty. The lake is set within 
the enamel of towering, rugged mountains, as if to 
shelter this oasis from the polluting breath of the 
world's moral desert. On the opposite side of the island 
is the spot where Fitz James wandered to the craggy banks 
of Loch Katrine, when he had lost his way. In his 
forlorn solitude he blew his bugle, saying — 

" I am alone, my bugle strain 

May call some straggler of the train." 

Ellen heard his plaintive notes, and in her little skiff 
soon reached the shore whence the sound proceeded. 
The youth concealed himself in the thicket, while he 
viewed through the branches the lovely maiden. While 
her face glowed with the lustre of every ennobling 
virtue — 

" One only passion nnrevealcd 

With maiden pride the maid concealed, 

Yet not less purely felt the flame 

O! need I tell that passion's name." 



LOCH LOMOND. 39 

This island is a monument to the innocence and 
chastity of pure affection, and on this account is a hal- 
lowed shrine around which the pilgrim loves to linger. 
Her hand would not belie her heart. For she boldly 
refused the hand of Roderick Dim : 

" Rather through realms beyond the sea, 
Seeking the world's cold charity — 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard — 
An outcast pilgrim will I rove 
Than wed the man I cannot love." 

We passed near the birth-place of Rob Roy, the 
noted freebooter. Near it stands a little dwelling, in 
which one of my rowers boasted to have lived for many 
years. Perhaps he was a descendant of the original Mc- 
Gregor clan. 

Leaving Loch Katrine, I set out on foot for Loch 
Lomond, a distance of five miles. I was agreeably dis- 
appointed in finding such a pleasant road through 
this rough, untraveled country. As I marched along- 
leisurely, wondering whether I was near the lake, I 
suddenly found myself standing on the summit of the 
mountain skirting its eastern border, while the silvery 
lake was spread out far below, like a sheet of spotless 
white. When Wallace and his band were on their way 
to storm Dumbarton Castle, he led them on the brow of 
this hill, and pointing to these spires of Nature rising 
heavenward, exclaimed : " Who would not fight for such 
a country?" 

Here I took the steamer for the lower end of the 
lake, a distance of some twenty miles. Amid the multi- 
tude of mountains clustering around these lakes, the 
lofty peaks of Ben Lomond and Ben Moor are always 



40 THE MOUNTAINS OF SCOTLAND. 

seen towering- high above the rest. The one is 3,400 
and the other 3,600 feet above the level of the sea. At 
this time their tops were still Wrapped in a sheet of 
snow. They stand among the rest like mighty chief's 
among their clans — all are brave, but they the bravest. 
Each has a tale to tell of some battles fought, some 
victory won. Everyone, both great and small, has been 
decorated by the drapery of poetry and romance. These 
mountains have done more for Scottish freedom than 
any other natural cause. They are the nursery of a 
hardy independence, and foster generous and noble 
sentiments. Here the heroes of Albion were taught the 
alphabet of freedom. Here in these Hlf/h-h\\\ds, nature's 
hieroglyphics of Freedom, where Avarlike clans rushed 
together in dire and deadly conflict — here, where these 
battlements of nature are but the symbolical mementoes 
of the earnest struggles of brave hearts — here Scotia has 
trained her brave men and her bards. 

Seeking shelter from the chilling breeze behind a 
warm chimney on the deck of the steamer, sailing down 
Loch Lomond, I fell into a conversation with an intelli- 
gent young German. He had acted a leading part in 
the Revolution of 1848, and was now exiled from his 
fatherland. He was su per i ntendent of certain i r< >n w< >rks 
in Scotland, but chafed with resentful impatience beneath 
the burden of his galling banishment. A bright-eyed 
intelligent daughter of 8 years stood by his side. Pie 
railed bitterly against the kings and rulers of Eu- 
rope, and against the clergy, whom he denounced as 
the servile tools of tyrants. Ministers of the Gospel he 
called " the police of kings, without whose help king- 
craft would soon have to perish." He avowed himself 



A SKEPTICAL EXILE. 41 

an unbeliever in the inspiration of the Bible, a hater of 
the Church and the of Ministry. " What might be your 
profession ?" he at length inquired. " Mine is the pro- 
fession which you hate and cry out against." He was 
too much of a gentleman not to feel my rebuke, and 
with embarrassment repeatedly asked my pardon. "I 
too have been differently raised," he continued. " While 
a student at the University I lost my faith. My wife 
believes as you do, and she is a good and a happy wo- 
man." 

In railing against the Bible and the Christian reli- 
gion, he sometimes misquoted Scripture, when the little 
girl would gently correct him by saying: "No, papa, 
the verse reads thus," and then she would repeat it cor- 
rectly from memory. We stopped at the same hotel in 
Glasgow, and ate our dinner together at the same table. 
As we sat down the dear child cast a glance at her fa- 
ther, and when he nodded to her, she folded her little 
hands and prayed a sweet little German table prayer, 
thanking God for our meal, and praying him to bless it, 
just as she was in the habit of doing at home. After 
dinner I expressed my pleasant surprise at this touching 
act of devotion performed at his request. He replied : 
" Pier good mother has taught her that. I wish her to be- 
lieve and do as her mother does. They both arc happier 
than I am." Pie sighed to get back to his native land, 
and said he could bear his exile more cheerfully if he 
were only permitted to visit his aged parents once more 
before they died. They were lx>th at the verge of the 
grave, and he longed to receive their dying blessing be- 
fore they fall asleep. . 

Glasgow is much larger than Edinburg, and more 



L2 THE CITY OF GLASGOW 

influential in commerce and manufactures, lis Inhabit- 
ants arc less strict in observing Sunday than the Edin- 
burgers. In the morning I worshipped in an Episcopal 
church, in which two clergymen officiated i One preached 
on Ecclesiastes v. 5, 6. His theme was: Vows made in 
adversity should be paid in prosperity, and without delay. 
It was a thanksgiving service, on the day appointed by 
(he Queen of England, asaday of thanksgiving through- 
out her realm. The congregation was apparently de- 
vout. The Lord's Prayer was repeated lour times dur- 
ing this one service : a- repetition whose frequency must 
weaken the devotional force of even (he best of prayers. 
In the afternoon I worshipped in one of the Free 
churches, when; an elderly gentleman preached an edify- 
ing sermon on the baptism of Christ. En the evening 
I attended service in a Congregational church, and heard 
a sermon on Luke \vi. 31, by the best-looking and 
poorest preacher I found in Scotland. 

A very worldly city this Glasgow seems to be, far 
less given to the cultivation of literature and religion 
than Edinburg. Here the Sunday Current on the streets 
is easily stemmed by non-church-goers. The churches 
are far less crowded, and the Congregations seem to be 
less attentive and devout. 

A Sunday in Scotland gives one much to think 
about. As a rule, it is strictly and sacredly observed in 
town and country. The churches are comfortable., but 
very plain structures, without the least architectural or- 
nament. Usually all the interior wood-work is painted 
white. The windows are of clear unstained <dass. The 
Scotch have not yet learned to see through "the dim re- 
ligious light" of more fashionable churches. Nor choir, 



CHURCH MUSIC IN SCOTLAND. 43 

nor organ is allowed in connection with their worship. 
Any kind of instrumental music in the church is con- 
sidered a "relic of popery" and a profanation of God's 
house. The chorister always raises the tune, lie takes 
the place of choir and organ. As a rule, so far as I no- 
ticed, he is a man of most unmusical voice. But with 
such congregational singing it is easy to lead in this pari 
of the service. His place is always near the pulpit ; 
usually he has a small pulpit of his own, in front of or 
aside of that of the preacher. His appearance, with 
robe and neckband, is quite clerical. During singing 
he always stands, while the congregation sits. 

The Presbyterians of England do not tolerate instru- 
mental music in churches. At a meeting of a Presbyte- 
rian Synod in Liverpool I witnessed a warm and inter- 
esting discussion on the subject of instrumental music in 
connection with public worship. One gentleman re- 
marked that if they used instrumental helps in praise, 
he did not see why they should not also use them in 
prayer. He entreated his brethren not to put on the 
Babylonish garments, against which their forefathers 
fought so stoutly. Another one held that with the in- 
troduction of musical instruments in Avorship came the 
Papal corruptions. One saw their legal sanction and 
use in the Old Testament worship, and could see noth- 
ing in the New to forbid the same. After a lengthy 
discussion the Synod voted by a large majority, "that 
the introduction of instrumental music in public worship 
is not approved by this Church, and enjoined all Pres- 
byteries to take measures that no such innovations are 
introduced in any of the congregations within their 
bounds, but to take steps, so far as practicable, to en- 



44 SCOTCH CHURCH OFFICERS. 

courage and cultivate the harmonious exercise of vocal 
music." The result of this vote was attended with loud 
cheers and hisses. 

All the people about a Scotch kirk must demean 
themselves decorously. From the pastor to the sexton, 
all the officers must be men of godly life and habits. Dr. 
John Brown gives an interesting sketch of the old sex- 
ton of his father's church, whom he calls " Jeems, the 
Door-keeper." He was a weaver by. trade ; a man of 
odd mould, in body and mind, but heroically pious, as 
well as tyrannically strict in keeping the door of God's 
house. One day two strangers came to church, and 
asked "Jeems" for seats. Motioning them to follow, 
he walked to the farthest corner to get them a seat ; 
meanwhile they had found a seat near the door, which 
he did not discover until he had reached the pew he in- 
tended to give them. "His nose and eye fell, or seemed 
to fall, on the two culprits." Proceeding to their pew, 
he seized and pulled them out instantly, hurrying them 
through the aisle to their appointed place. He mibbed 
them slowly in, and gave them a parting look they were 
not likely to misunderstand or forget. 

One time he passed the collection plate around, when 
a stingy worshipper put a crown instead of a penny on 
it by mistake. Seeing the white piece of money as it 
dropped out of his hands, he asked "Jeems" to hand it 
back to him. " In once in forever," exclaimed the sturdy 
sexton. "Weel, weel" (well, well), growled the man, 
"I'll get credit for it in heaven." "Na, na," said 
Jeems, "ye'll get credit only for a penny !" 

Brown says he was sensitive to fierceness for the 
honor of his church and minister, and to his too often 
worthless neighbors he was a living epistle. 



A SCOTCH SEXTON. 45 

" He dwelt at the head of Big Lochend's Close in the 
Canongate, at the top of a long stair — ninety-six steps, 
as I well knew — where he had dwelt all by himself for 
five-and-thirty years, and where in the midst of all sorts 
of flittings and changes, not a day opened or closed with- 
out the well-known sound of 'Jeems' at his prayers, — 
his 'exercise,' — at 'the Books.' His clear, fearless, hon- 
est voice in psalm or chapter, and strong prayer came 
sounding through that wide ' land,' like that of one cry- 
ing in the wilderness." 

When all alone, without wife or child, he never fail- 
ed to have what he, with a grave smile, called family 
worship. All by himself he sang his psalms, gave out 
or chanted the lines, having a different tune for each 
day, seven tunes for each week ; only seven in all, and 
no more. Seeing Brown's surprise at this, he said : 
"You see, John, we (lie and his wife) began in that 
way." And so after his wife had gone to heaven, he 
kept on as they had begun. On Tuesday, the day his 
wife and child died, he always sang more verses than on 
any other day. 

Brown says he often breakfasted with Jeems. He 
made capital porridge, for he was his own cook. " And 
I wish I could get such buttermilk, or at least have 
such a relish for it as in those days." His chapters were 
long, and his prayers short, very scriptural, and by no 
means stereotyped, and wonderfully real, immediate, as 
if he was near Him whom he addressed. Any one 
hearing the sound, and not the words, would say, 
"That man is speaking to some one who is with him, — 
who is present," — as he often said to me, "There's nae 
gude dune, John, till ye get to close grups." (There is 



46 THE SCOTCH PULPIT. 

no good done till yc get to close grips). .Teems is away 
— gone over to the majority; and I hope I may never 
forget to be grateful to the dear and queer old man." 

One can well discern the evidences of a good home 
training in these Scotch congregations. The children 
and servants arc taught their Catechism at home. 
Family religion forms an essential part of a Scotch 
Presbyterian household. Thus the people, the common 
people are taught their Catechism, Bible, and Psalm 
Book. These form a good foundation. In Scotland, 
servant girls are said to be versed in the ordinary topics 
of theology. And the people are all athirst for more 
biblical knowledge. Hence the rustling of Bible leaves 
when the text or a proof passage is cited. All have a 
Bible and Psalm Book before them in the pew. 

All the people, old and young, rich and poor, rise 
up during prayer ; and that too, where the prayer is not 
(infrequently from fifteen to twenty minutes long. How 
many prominent Presbyterian congregations, in our 
larger American cities, can say as much for themselves? 

The Scotch pulpit is noted for its learning. It is 
brim full of theology. Usually the sermons are elabo- 
rate, luminous, and finished to a fault. They are cram- 
med with theological seed; but it is sown so densely 
that it requires an extraordinary fertile soil to furnish it 
with the elements of growth ; and even where these are 
at hand, it is in danger of choking to death. Some 
preachers have all sound and little sense; all thunder 
and no lightning. The Scotch are the reverse ; all 
lightning and little thunder. Chalmers had both ; so 
has Guthrie. Both are needed ; the lightning to en- 
lighten and purity the air, and the thunder to shake the 



WORSHIP OF THE SCOTCH. 47 

earth. In Scotland, with the peculiar religious edu- 
cation and temperament of the people, the injurious 
effects of it are not so great. For the bulk of American 
congregations, such preaching would be like the patter- 
ing of rain on a rock, like the sowing of good seed by 
the wayside. 

The Scotch lay great stress on so-called simplicity in 
worship. They have a righteous antipathy to forms of 
devotion — save their version of the Psalms. In their 
extreme opposition to liturgical forms, they have them- 
selves become formalists. In their contending against 
religious ceremonies, they have acquired ceremonial 
habits. They have become formally informal, cere- 
moniously unceremonious. Very able their prayers are, 
but painfully lacking devotional unction. Often they 
present in their prayers intrusive expositions of precious 
truths, definitions of the attributes and decrees of God, 
to which every person listens with laborious atten- 
tion. Under such prayers the mind is feasted, while the 
heart is famished. The wrestlings and yearnings of 
burdened contrite hearts find no outlet through them. 
Unction in worship is an essential part of religion. Its 
ointment opens the pores of the heart, gives vent to peni- 
tence and praise, and enables it to absorb the pure, life- 
giving atmosphere of God's gracious presence. In 
prayer the heart demands a hearing. 

The Scotch are a warm-hearted, hospitable people ; 
and their clergy, whilst they cling tenaciously to their 
religious peculiarities, are liberal-minded towards Chris- 
tians , of other Churches. A prominent Edinburg cler- 
gyman urged me to preach for him, showing the catholic 
spirit which pervades him. They are frank and ardent 



48 THE SCOTCH CHARACTER. 

in their intercourse with strangers. After spending an 
evening with a well-known Edinburg Publisher, he cor- 
dially grasped my hand twice in parting, and as 1 turned 
away from his door, lie shouted a third and final Good 
Night after me. After a clergyman and his wife had 
shaken hands twice in leaving me, they returned to the 
parlor to repeat the pleasing greeting the third time. 
These are little, yet pleasing traits of Scotch character ; 
child-like outgushings of their warm genial hearts. God 
bless these earnest Scotch Christians, and speedily enable 
them to disenthral and Christianize tint old Cowgate of 
Edinburg. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE BIRTH-PLACE AND HOME OP ROBERT BURNS. 

BELFAST. THE GIANT'S CAUSWAY. 

SWEET AUBURN. 



After spending a few days at Glasgow, I left for the 
birth-place of Burns. Beaching Ayr, I accidentally 
happened to dine with an old lady who is a second 
cousin of the "Ayrshire Ploughman." His monument 

and birth-place are about three miles from town. The 
latter is a small straw-covered cottage, which at present 
is devoted to the sale of liquor, a beverage in which poor 
Burns indulged too freely himself. I rested awhile in 
the cottage, and saw the recess in the wall in which he 
was born. Here the budding mind of the boy Burns 
received its first impressions, where he lived until he 
was nine years of age. Proceeding a short distance, I 
reached " Alloway's auld haunted kirk," whose roofless 
walls stand in dreary loneliness amid the dust of past 
generations, the old bell still perched in its accustomed 
place on the point of the gable. Close by is the monu- 
ment erected to Burns, in the heart of a garden, beauti- 
fully ornamented with evergreens and terraces of flowers, 
that spread a pleasant fragrance round. In the monu- 
ment are still preserved the two Bibles, which Burns 
and his "Mary" gave each other at their last parting, as 
the solemn pledges of their undying affection. Each 
has inscribed on a blank leaf an appropriate scripture 
4 49 



50 ROBERT BURNS. 

passage, to remind them of the sac-redness of their 
vows, mutually pledged on the banks of the Ayr. 
They met no more, and poor Burns poured out his 
bleeding heart in his " Address to Mary in Heaven," 
one of. the most touching little poems that ever flowed 
from a mortal pen. 

I ascended a flight of stairs, where I had a de- 
lightful view. All around me was spread a scene of 
fields, trees and flowers, and the "Bonnie Doon" rip- 
pling carelessly along its base, a prospect that seemed to 
forbid the intrusion of sadness. Yet I felt sad. Burns 
was poor. His fine sensibilities often bled from wounds 
inflicted by poverty and neglect. He was at times re- 
duced to the most uncomfortable straights, and was 
glad to escape from these by the office of Excisemen. 
He became gauger, and for the pittance of a meagre liv- 
ing, served his country as a hunter of brandy smugglers, 
a fatal privilege to plunge into greater dissipation. Now 
that he has gone where he can no longer enjoy the bread 
that perisheth, and the reward due his genius, there is 
none too great to do him honor. The most magnificent 
monuments are erected, the fiftieth part of whose cost 
would have "stored his pantry," and removed from his 
heart the corroding worm of care. 

On a visit to Edinburg, Burns found the grave of 
Ferguson, the poet, still unmarked by a monument. 
Poor as he was, he erected an humble tombstone to his 
"brother in misfortune." When, a few years ago, a 
critic in one of the Reviews noticed a visit of Queen 
Victoria to Edinburg, his imagination willed up the 
shades of Burns and Ferguson to witness the scene. 
Standing on Calton Hill, where Burns has a monument. 



THE BONNIE DOON. 51 

and opposite which is the old grave-yard where poor Fer- 
guson lies, they viewed with poetic composure the 
pomp and pageant of royalty. And it came to pass, as 
they turned away from this, with Burn's monument and 
Ferguson's humble gravestone in view, they spoke of 
their past and present fortunes and misfortunes. Burns 
could point to his piles of marble reared by Posterity, to 
which Ferguson replied, " Rather far let me have yon 
humble stone, which the hand and heart of Genius raised, 
than the proudest monuments of an interested and un- 
sympathizing Posterity." Burns himself wrote the fol- 
lowing lines under a portrait of Ferguson : 

" Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleased 
And yet can starve the author of the pleasure." 

And afterwards asks : 

" Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasure ?" 

Descending from the monument, I soon strolled 

along the — 

" Banks an' braes 'o bonnie Doon," 

which led me to "the key-stane o' the bridge," where 
Tarn O'Shanter's mare lost her tail. Tarn happened to 
get on a spree one night in the town of Ayr, as his 
habit was, and belated himself, so that he had to go 
home through a thunder storm. The lightning making- 
night more hideous, stirred up the guilty fears of his 
bad heart. At midnight he started for home, "well 
mounted on the gray mare Meg." After he had passed 
the bridge, she suddenly stopped, and lo! Tarn saw 
ghosts and spectres grim and ghastly. There is a saying 
among the common people that evil spirits have no 



52 tam o'shanter's ride. 

power to follow a person beyonft the middle of the next 
stream. So he wheeled his mare around and made for 
the keystone of the old bridge, with the whole train of 
furies after him. Just as the mare approached this stone, 
hard pressed by these unearthly hob-gobblins — 

" One spring brought oft" her master hale 
But left beyond her own gray tail." 

A short distance down the Doon is the new bridge, 
on which I stood a long while watching the rippling 
waves that played down the stream. Then I rambled 
far down a stream along a road running parallel with it 
at a short distance. All along it was overhung with a 
bower, formed by venerable trees. It was about sunset. 
On one side sheep were grazing and bleating, on the 
other the Doon winded along, its little waterfalls mut- 
tering pleasant sounds; above and around were birds 
warbling their vesper hymns. Seldom have I tasted 
such unmixed pleasure, as when I roved through this 
peaceful solitude in undisturbed meditation. It reminds 
me vividly of my native Conestoga. I passed a little 
cottage, the abode of an elderly laboring man. Had it 
been Saturday evening, I think I would have entered to 
get an illustration of the "Cotter's Saturday Night." 
And I passed a rosy-cheeked maiden, which I thought 
must bear a close resemblance to the "Highland Mary." 
On my return I entered the old grave-yard in which the 
church of Alloway stands, which was said to be haunted. 
It was just about twilight, "the true witching time, 
when spirits hold their wonted walk." I peeped through 
the iron doors, but all was silent as death. Having no 
taste for superstition, my thoughts soon turned to graver 
themes. The yard is enclosed within an old ivv-covered 



CROSSING THE IRISH CHANNEL. 53 

wall. At the entrance* is the grave of Burns' father, 
"the friend of man, to vice alone a foe." I had a desire 
to spend the night amid such hallowed scenes at the 
Burns Hotel, but there was no room in the inn. Now, 
then — 

" Bonny Doon, so sweet at twilight, 
Fare theo well, before I gang." 

This will end my tour in Scotland. Would that the 
end were not yet. Scotia is a lovely land. I love her 
history and heroes, her poets and her peasants, her 
mountains and her moors. Should I live to return to 
my native land, I will read her bards with greater 
pleasure, and try to be a better man for having visited 
the scenery which -their genius has embellished and the 
blood of heroes enriched. In the meanwhile a fond 
adieu to the — 

" Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 
Land of the mountains and the flood." 

I took the steamer across the Irish Channel to 
Belfast, which swung me into a fit of sea-sickness 
again. It was soon over, but — whew ! Commend me 
to the solid earth. Horace somewhere asks whether a 
man could ever be brave after he had endured the lash 
with his hands tied on his back, expecting every mo- 
ment to be the last. I wonder whether Horace had 
ever been sea-sick; for no calamity can inflict a more 
cowardly spirit on a man. 

The following morning I went to the northern coast 
of Ireland to visit the Giant's Causeway. Procuring a 
guide, I descended to the base of the cliffs, from three 
to four hundred feet high. I drank of the water gurg- 



54 the giant's causeway. 

ling out at the Giant's Well, pure and fresh. The guide 
pointed out distinct columns which seemed to have 
been melted into a mass, from which some geologists 
ascribe its formation to the action of fire. In some 
places the columns precisely resemble a large petrified 
honeycomb. They have from four to nine sides, and 
these again bounded by the sides of so many other 
columns. Sometimes one column is walled in by the 
sides of nine others. They are so compactly blocked 
together that some of the joints are impervious to water. 
The columns above the surface are from ten to forty feet 
in height, and perhaps a foot in diameter. They are all 
perpendicular, except one cluster imbedded in a solid 
rock, called the Giant's Cannon, because they lie hori- 
zontally and look like cannon aimed at the sea. How 
came these to fall over ? The columns are all formed by 
blocks from six inches and upwards in length. Their 
joints appear in irregular cracks along the outer surface, 
but within this narrow crust, each block has a smoothly- 
polished convex and concave top and base, always one of 
each, and these lie so tightly in their sockets that no 
breath of air can penetrate them. A short distance from 
the base is the circular row of columns, with both ends 
laid in solid rock, called the Giant's Organ, from their 
resemblance to organ-pipes, and on the top of a tall 
cliff, projecting into the sea, is a piece of rock called the 
Giant's Grandmother. It looks like a trembling old 
lady suddenly petrified while sitting at her work, and 
reminds one of Lot's wife. 

This is a stupendous geological mystery. These 
small blocks with their smooth concave and convex 
bases, and regular yet diversified sides ; and these form- 



SWEET AUBURN. 55 

ing symmetrical columns, morticed together into a col- 
umnar pile, and this again supporting a solid mass of 
rock, on which a smaller series of columns rest, as if 
nature were endeavoring to make all these columns con- 
verge in a Gothic spire pointing to the Great Architect, 
all these are phenomena that fill the beholder with 
amazing wonder. But what laws of nature, what agents 
of God, assisted in their erection, and laid these blocks 
in their places, whether flood, or fire, or both, this still 
remains a matter of doubt and conjecture. 

" Near yonder corpse, where once the garden smiled, 

And still where many a garden flower grows wild — 

There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 

The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 

A man he was to all the country dear ; 

And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 

Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 

Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change his place." 

Thus wrote Oliver Goldsmith about his father, the 

Rev. Charles Goldsmith, a pastor in an Irish Village, 

one hundred years ago. The name of the Village is 

Lissoy. All that remains of 

" Sweet Auburn ! loveliest Tillage of the plain," 

consists of some mouldering walls, amid a few humble 
cottages, about a hundred miles west of Dublin, Ire- 
land. Few who read Godsmith's "Deserted Village," 
and his charming picture of the life and labors of a vil- 
lage pastor in Ireland, but what cherish the fond wish 
of visiting such a scene of peace and pious pleasure. For 
in an Irish parish and pastor, we get a glimpse of the 
social and religious life of Ireland. 

Let us to sweet Auburn. The chief part of the road 
I travel by rail. Then walk twelve miles to Bally ma- 



56 COUNTRY LIFE IN IRELAND. 

hon, a dirty village. This proved a long and pleasing 
walk, through one of the most charming districts of the 
"Emerald Isle." That is to say, nature as (rod has 
made it, is charming. The soil is naturally very fertile. 
The color of the grass, grain and foliage, has a peculiar 
freshness one rarely finds elsewhere. The birds and 
beasts of the field seem happy, according to their animal 
capacity. Farms are cut up into small tracts. The 
farm-houses in size and arrangement, are inferior to our 
American railroad shanties. The many that I passed, 
standing by the wayside, are so poorly constructed, that 
kind-hearted American people would hesitate to house 
their cattle therein in winter time. 

Seeing the door of one open, I took the liberty of 
viewing the interior. It had the bare earth for its floor; 
on the unplastered walls hung pots and kettles, pants 
and petticoats. A few small windows admitted scarcely 
light enough to see the smaller articles of furniture. The 
low r er story was all in one apartment, and that very 
small. A few pigs and chickens were hunting for 
crumbs inside the door, not half as dirty as the children 
keeping them company. The ceiling would scarcely 
have allowed me to stand erect. Along the wall, near 
the door, a ladder with some six or eight rounds, an- 
swered the part of a stairway, leading to the dark sleej)- 
ing place under the low straw roof. This is an average 
tenant house on an Irish farm. As for barns, one 
seldom sees the resemblance of one. The few cattle 
must weather the cold blasts of winter as best they can, 
with but little shelter. Nineteen out of twenty of the 
farmers are renters, renting from third and fourth par- 
ties, each of whom claims his profits, leaving the poor 



A PARISH PRIEST. + 57 

tenant nothing for his labor ; sometimes nothing but 
milk and potatoes for his food. He can not afford to 
fertilize the land, and tries to extort from it all he can to 
secure his meagre living. In spite of this impoverishing 
system, Ireland retains marks of unequalled loveliness. 

Traveling afoot gives one a healthy appetite. So I 
found it here, without the means of satisfying it. Hun- 
ger increased my fatigue, until miles seemed to stretch 
out to three times their ordinary length. The fare of 
these so-called farm-houses I could not enjoy. Bread 
taken from such a larder, it would require a greater 
extremity of hunger to relish. At a post station, con- 
sisting of a small (duster of huts, I fortunately got a 
piece of bread and cheese at a grocery. 

At Bally mahon, a small inn gave me rest and re- 
freshment. A frank-hearted and rotund priest was my 
messmate. Although ordinary bread and butter, and a 
few boiled eggs made up the meal, rarely have I en- 
joyed a feast with sweeter relish. My friend, the in- 
telligent parish priest, gave me interesting information 
concerning the religion and people of Ireland. After 
dinner he happened to pass along the street, possibly to 
attend to his parish duties. He had not gone a hun- 
dred yards when a crowd of beggars, ragged men, wo- 
men and children, surrounded him, each extending the 
hand, all "crying for help." "Plase your riverence, give 
a poor auld widow a penny, for the love of God." 
"Yeer hauliness jist a penny for bread, I am so hun- 
gry." "Dear father, help me, and I will pray the hauly 
vargin for v^u when I am dying, that God may be your 
friend and heaven your home." 80 the crowd whined 
and lamented around the patient priest, dogging his 



58 >HE DESERTED VTLJjAGE. 

steps as he tried to pass along the street. At first he 
put his hand into his pocket, dealing out a penny to one 
here and there, which made the disappointed ones more 
clamorous. Some even ohided him for being so slow to 
relieve them. I could scarcely blame him for bidding 
the crowd, with the wave of his hand, to open the way 
for him to go after his business. For what purse of priest, 
or parson could endure such a demand long? 

As both of us were going the same way, I joined my 
intelligent friend in a ride on a rickety cab. After an 
hour's journey we parted, he for Aithlone, and 1 for 
" Sweet Auburn." 

All that remains of it are a few dilapidated walls. The 
few huts in the vicinity are of more modern origin. 
About thirty yards from the road are the gloomy, roof- 
less relies of "the village preacher's modest mansion." 
Here Goldsmith's brother lived, of whom we have such 
a glowing description in the "Deserted Village." Jn 
front of it, "still many a garden flower grows wild" — a 
few of which I plucked to send across the Atlantic, 
freighted with good wishes for my friends. 

'• The decent church that topt the neighboring hill" 

• 

is still seen from the old parsonage, several miles oft" on 
the distant hill top. It was remodelled fifteen years ago, 
and is still devoted to its original sacred purpose. A 
shorter distance, in the same direction, is "the never- 
failing brook." "The busy mill is busy no longer. The 
old wheel has become insensible to the water dripping 
on its paddles. The building bears its age verv well, a 
thatched stone edifice that promises to survive all its 
former contemporaries. About an eighth of a mile from 



THE VILLAGE INN. 59 

the parsonage, over a small hill, is "The three jolly 
pigeons," 

" The house where nut-brown draughts inspired." 

Every thing is gone except the mouldering walls. None 
of its original ornaments remain, except "the hearth," 
on whose mantle broken tea-cups are ranged and 
"wisely kept for show." The "whitewashed wall" has 
been soiled by time and rain. Opposite from this, a 
vacant spot is shown where stood "the hawthorn bush." 
One can easily discover the vestiges of faded beauty in 
this once lovely plain. But a shade of sadness has set- 
tled upon it. Its glades confess the tyrant's power. Its 
forlorn desolation is a sad monument of the tyranny of 
the land owners of Ireland. 

" Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen 
And desolation saddens all the green, 
One only master grasps the whole domain 
And half a tillage stints the smiling plain." 

I rambled through this melancholy solitude until 
evening's close, when I sat down on the mouldering 
wall to listen to "the village murmur." Though there 
were only a few straggling peasant huts near me, it was 
at an hour when the life of Nature was still astir. The 
geese gabbled, the dogs barked, the cattle lowed, the 
children whooped and shouted, so that with the help of 
my imagination, I could easily picture to myself the 
scene of sweet confusion in Auburn's palmiest days. 
Goldsmith used to say that he had received nothing 
from Ireland but his blunders and his brogue. He 
should have given her credit for furnishing the occasion 
and spot of the "Deserted Village." 



60 goldsmith's father. 

I greatly fear that poor Oliver Goldsmith, instead of 
giving us his godly father and his parish as they really 
were, allowed his imagination to create an ideal pastor 
and his people. To say the least, we must make due al- 
lowance for "poetic license" and for the pardonable 
infirmity of filial partiality. A godly man Charles 
Goldsmith doubtless was, happy and contented, and in 
favor with God and man. 

He says of him : 

"My father, the younger son of a good family, was 
possessed of a small living in the church. His edu- 
cation was alone his fortune, and his generosity greater 
than his education. Pool- as he was, he had his flatterers 
poorer than himself; for every dinner he gave them, 
they returned him an equivalent in praise ; and this was 
all he wanted. The same ambition that actuates a mon- 
arch at the head of his army, influenced my father at the 
head of his (able. Pie told the story of the ivy tree, and 
that was laughed at j he repeated the jest of the two 
scholars and one pair of breeches, and the company 
laughed at that; but the story of Taffy in the sedan- 
ehair, was sure to set the table in a roar. Thus his 
pleasure increased in proportion to the pleasure he gavej 
he loved all the world, and he fancied all the wOrld loved 
him. 

" As his fortune was but small, he lived up to the 
very extent of it; he had no intention of leaving his 
children money, for that was dross; he resolved they 
should have learning; for learning he used to observe, 
was better than silver or gold. For this purpose he un- 
dertook to instruct us himself, and took as much care to 
form our morals as to improve our understanding. We 



"the village pastor." 01 

were told that universal benevolence was what first 
cemented society; we were taught to consider all the 
wants of mankind as our own ; to regard the human 
face divine with affection and esteem; he wound us up 
to l>e mere machines of pity, and rendered us incapable 
of withstanding the slightet impulse made either by real 
or fictitious distress. In a word, we were perfectly in- 
structed in the art of giving away thousands before we 
were taught the necessary qualifications of getting a 
farthing." Of his brother Charles he says : 

" At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorn' d the venerable place ; 

Truth from his lips prevail' d with double sway, 

And fools, who came to scoff, remain' d to pray. 

The service pass'd, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 

E'en children foHow'd with endearing wile, 

And pluek'd las gown, to share the good man's smile. 

His ready smi'e, a parent's warmth express'd, 

Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd. 

To them his heart, his lore, his griefs were given, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven." 

Truly a model pastor. His virtues would suit the 
present age no less than his; some of his joking ways, 
perhaps not so well. Not that in the proper place a 
clerical joke is sinful; but in pastor or layman, the 
reins of a joker's genius should be held with a firm and 
cautious hand. 

But how could the dear pastor keep open house all 
the year round with forty pounds (less than $250) a 
year? For the "vagrant train," " the long remembered 
beggar," "the ruined spendthrift,-" and "the broken 
soldier," were alike his guests. Around this modest 
village mansion lay the parish farm of seventy acres. 






62 VESPERS BY THE WAYSIDE. 

The produce of this made the forty pounds go a great 
ways, at a time when living was cheap. In sooth it is a 
pleasing picture of the sunny side of the pastor's life; 
of one who loved and was beloved of all ; who having 
but little, was passing rich; though poor, could practice 
the most agreeable hospitality to those most needing and 
most capable of appreciating it ; who gave alike to toper, 
spendthrift or deserving pauper — 

" Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 

And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side." 

At eventide I leisurely strolled back to Bally mahon, 
a distance of five miles. On my way I fell in with a 
group of field laborers. Many a question had they to 
ask of me, and I as many of them. What their earn- 
ings, who their landlords, what their profits and pros- 
pects were — these and other questions I plied them with. 
As we went on, others, men, women and children, came 
out of the small fields along the wayside, bringing their 
rakes, hoes and scythes with them. They all went the 
same way with myself. In a short time, I saw motley 
processions of working people scattered over a mile, 
merrily chatting. SthT-jointed old laborers limping 
along, contentedly whiffing their white clay-pipes, now 
and then one handing his pipe to me to indulge in a few 
whiffs; young men and maidens grouping together and 
filling the air with merry laughter and boisterous fun. 
"Whither are all these people going?" I inquired. "To 
rosaries," was the reply. "Where is that?" "In the 
church, a few miles from here." "And you too are 



WEEK-DAY WORSHIP. 63 

going there?" they asked. Evading their well-meant 
question, I learned that these Irish country people 
close every day in their church. At a certain time in the 
evening they stop working, and at once repair to theii 
sanctuary, to praise God for the blessings of the day, and 
pray for His preserving care during the night. Some 
thus walk from three to six miles every evening, after 
their day's work, to worship God together. At length 
we reached the church, standing by the wayside in the 
country. Quite a pile of farming tools was already 
standing aside of the church door. Others emerged 
from the lanes and roads of the surrounding country, 
and added their implements to the general pile, until 
the front yard of the sanctuary looked, from a short dis- 
tance, like the headquarters of a military detachment, 
which had stacked arms against the outside wall. It was 
a very plain country church, but to these simple-hearted 
rustics a very sacred place. Men and boys all entered 
the door with hat in hand. 

This walking to the house of God with a congrega- 
tion of field laborers in Ireland, reminded me of the re- 
sistless streams of church-goers on the streets of Edin- 
burg on Sunday. Here, however, I was borne to church 
by a week-day current. To me all the more pleasar J 
for happening on every day of the week, instead of 
being confined to Sunday. Indeed, with all the su- 
perstition and degradation of Irish Catholics, there is 
much that we Protestants might learn from them. 
Among other things, the lesson promptly and regularly 
to worship God in the sanctuary on week-days. Think 
of tired working people walking five miles to church 
every evening. True, it may be only a habit; but then 



♦ 



04 LABORERS AND PILGRIMS AT PRAYERS. 

it is a vervggood habit, which all professing Christians 
would do well to cultivate. While Protestant churches 
are not open every day of the year, they are open on 
many week-day evenings. Yet how few, comparatively, 
resort thither at such times. 

In traveling afoot in Catholic countries, I would 
often pass a wayside church, whose doors were open all 
day long. At many a church door, I saw the stiff and 
dirty little knapsack of the wandering beggar, whose 
owner devoutly spent a few moments on his knees 
within, praying to the God of the poor. Protestant 
though I was, I too at times laid my cane and little 
traveling pouch aside the door of the plain country 
church, and spent a brief season in the sacred inclosure, 
in meditation and prayer, according to the way I had 
been taught. To my mind, there is something very 
pleasing in the wayside country churches, whose open 
doors, all day long, invite every passing pilgrim to 
enter, and while he rests his weary limbs, worship his 
God and Redeemer. 

Longfellow gives a beautiful description of the 
Vesper or evening prayers in a Spanish town, Many 
Catholic villages in Northern Europe present a similar 
evening scene. 

"Just as the evening twilight commences, the bell 
tolls to pray. In a moment, throughout the crowded 
city, the hum of business is hushed; the thronged 
streets are still; the gay multitudes that crowd the 
public walks stand motionless; the angry dispute ceases ; 
the laugh of merriment dies away; life seems for a mo- 
ment to be arrested in its career, and to stand still. The 
multitude uncover their heads, and, with the sign of the 



EVENING PRAYERS IN A VILLAGE. 65 

cross, whisper their evening prayer to the Virgin. Then 
the bells ring a merrier peal ; the crowds move again in 
the streets, and the rush and turmoil of business re- 
commence. I have always listened with feelings of 
solemn pleasure to the bell that sounded forth the Ave 
Maria. As it announced the close of day, it seemed also 
to call the soul from its worldly occupations to repose 
and devotion. There is something beautiful in thus 
measuring the march of time. The hour, too, naturally 
brings the heart into unison with the feelings and senti- 
ments of devotion. The close of the day, the shadows 
of evening, the calm of twilight, inspire a feeling of 
tranquility: and though I may differ from the Catholic 
in regard to the object of his supplication, yet it seems 
to me a beautiful and appropriate solemnity, that, at the 
close of each daily epoch of life^-which, if it have not 
been fruitful in incidents to ourselves, has, neverthless, 
been so to many of the great human family, — the voice of 
a whole people, and of the whole world, should go up to 
heaven in praise, and supplication and thankfulness. 

I need not tell my readers, that in praising this gen- 
eral habit of daily evening devotions in Catholic coun- 
tries, I do not thereby approve of their worshipping the 
Virgin Mary. Only the good and true in their services 
do I approve of and commend. There is a " shady side," 
too, to the picture of Ireland's country life and religion. 
Were I to describe the "Irish Wakes," and Sunday 
afternoon frolics, I should have to portray bloody faces, 
black eyes, and bandaged limbs, and other fruits of Irish 
follies. 

Can there be any strong home ties, any warm home 
affections in such miserable famine infested hovels ? 
5 



66 A PARTING SCENE IN IRELAND. 

Indeed, few nations can boast of homes with warmer 
hearts, than those of Ireland. Thanks to the oppres- 
sive policy of the British Government, a large pro- 
portion of Ireland's sturdiest children are forced to seek 
homes in America. Many a village retains scarcely half 
its former population. Yet few can part from their 
native Erin without a pang. 

" Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call 
The smiling, long-frequented village fall ? 
Beheld the'duteous son, the sire, deeay'd 
The modest matron, and the blushing maid, 
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, 
To traverse climes beyond the Western main." 

Approaching Belfast, the train stopped at the station 
■ of a small country village. A young man, attended to 
the station by his mother, sisters and comrades, stood on 
the platform, awaiting the arrival of the care, which 
were to bear him away from dear ones towards America. 
His unattractive home lay a short distance from here. 
He and his comrades were perceptibly heated with 
whisky, and tried to silence the grief of parting, with 
'«, shouts of drunken mirth. J can still see the poor old 
mother throw her arms around his neck, covering his 
face with kisses, and weeping as if her heart would 
break. Mother and sisters in turn embraced the boy, 
then tried to turn away, with shrieks of grief. When 
the train gave the signal for starting, they again rushed 
* on the platform of the car, re-embraced and kissed, and 
pressed him to their hearts, then clasping and Avringing 
their hands in pitiful agony, until the conductor by 
force closed the door, and bade them get off the car. 

Many were the country comrades who escorted him 



A BOISTEROUS ADIEU. 67 

to the train — hale and sturdy - looking fellows. 
Strong drink had made them insensible to the proprie- 
ties of the sad occasion. In wild, boisterous confusion, 
they crowded around him, each reaching for a parting 
grasp. As the cars began to move, they shouted him a 
last farewell with uncovered heads, whilst his mother 
and sisters threw up their clasped hands as if to hold 
back the cruel train that tore him from their loving; 
embrace. 

All this while the youth, though blushing from 
liquor or filial love, shed not a tear. He shouted a last 
adieu to " mamma" and his sisters. Then, as the train 
sped him away towards the setting sun, he leaned back 
in his seat, and with his sleeve wiped away the tears 
rapidly rolling over his flushed cheeks. 

They little thought that a lonely stranger, far from 
his dear home " beyond the western main," was watching 
them with a tender heart and moist eyes, thinking of his 
dear father offering his nightly prayers for his far absent 
son, and of his mother gone to the "sweet home" in 
heaven. This parting scene of an humble Irish peasant 
family, gave me much to think about. Perhaps he was 
the only stay of hi§ aged mother in this poverty-ridden 
country, and the pride of his loving sisters. And now, 
to give him up — perhaps forever ! How lonely and for- 
saken their little hut will seem ! Who will till their 
small farm, and help them to pay their high rent, and 
supply them with their wonted food and raiment? 
Perhaps he solemnly promised to save his first earnings 
in America to bring them, too, to his new home. Pos- 
sibly, this hope of meeting again partly soothes the grief 
of parting. 



CHAPTER V 



THTBLIN. DR. NEWMAN. IRELAND AND THE IRISH. 
BIRMINGHAM. 



Dublin is the chief city of Ireland, with 300,000 in- 
habitants. Like Edinburgh it is comprised of an old 
and a new town. The new part is regularly and sub- 
stantially built. It is mainly inhabited by persons of 
respectability and wealth. The streets and dwellings 
possess an air of neatness and comfort. The old town is 
the abode of poverty ; its houses are wretched tenements, 
brimful of filth and running over. Their tenants dirty 
and degraded, presenting as striking a" contrast to new 
Dublin as the Cowgate does to the new town of Edin- 
burg. Poor as they are, there are few houses where 
you do not find the purse, pipe and buttle. Of course, 
the first is almost always empty ; the others never. 

Dublin is a Catholic city. To see its church-going 
population, you must attend the Catholic Church. It 
was on Whitsunday morning, as I wended my way to 
the Church of the University of Ireland, where High 
Mass was celebrated. Rev. Father Gaffey preached a 
sermon on Acts ii. 2-4. It was a practical and extem- 
poraneous sermon, containing much that was edifying, 
and little that would have been offensive to the most 
fastidious Protestant taste. The music was charming ; 
especially the praising part of the service; reminding 

68 



DR. JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. 69 

one of thousands of birds in a grove on a spring morn- 
ing, skipping cheerily from limb to limb, warbling their 
grateful melodies in sweet confusion to their common 
Father. 

The congregation was mainly composed of the most 
respectable and intelligent people of Dublin. During 
some parts of the service, all seemed solemnly impressed. 
During others, many were perceptibly undevout, care- 
lessly lipping rapidly over their prayers, their eyes 
meanwhile roving over the congregation and the church. 
I could not resist the impression that, after a certain 
part in the service, the chief aim of many was mechani- 
cally to get over the largest number of prayers in the 
shortest time. 

The celebrated Dr. Newman, once a very prominent 
and learned minister in the Church of England, presides 
over this University. He sat on a chair opposite the 
pulpit. He is* old and looks care-worn. His whole 
bearing is like that of an earnest man, bowed down 
beneath the burden of eventful years. For his outward 
appearance he seems to have very little concern. His 
furrowed features bear the impress of severe soul con- 
flicts. In walking he stoops and leans forward, and 
steps as if it caused him a perceptible effort to move a 
limb. He looks as artless as a child; and more like 
one of the scholastics of the early Church than a Catho- 
lic Theologian of the Nineteenth Century ; more 
profound rather than learned, more disposed to grapple 
with one idea than with many. In the whole-souled 
fervor with which he joined in the service of this morn- 
ing, one could not detect the slighcst shade of his earlier 
Protestant training. 



70 TRAITS OF IRISH CHARACTER. 

In the evening I worshipped in an Episcopal 
Church. A clergyman preached on the cleansing of 
Naaman, the Leper. The large church was not half 
filled. The people seemed devout, and the services 
were solemn, and the sermon was not as instructive and 
edifying as the one I had heard in the morning. 

The Dublin Sunday might be materially improved. 
Business is not wholly suspended. Many of the gro- 
ceries and confectioneries were open. The streets swarm 
with ragged beggars. Despite the many asylums, hos- 
pitals, and other charitable institutions of the city, trains 
of whining mendicants escort you along the street, and 
beg you for the sake of the " hauly vargin," or a list of 
saints to have pity on them. Around church doors, 
too, they congregate to ply their sad art, to get bread. 

The Irish are of a sanguine temperament, sometimes 
impulsively so, but capable of the noblest generosity. 
They have not the exclusiveness of the English, nor the 
calculating intellectualism of the Scotch. They have 
more heart than the one, and less ingenuity than the 
other. All that an Irishman does, says and writes, be 
it good or evil, conies glowing from the heart. Their 
orators are the most eloquent, because their hearts are in 
their orations. Shakespeare and Johnson address the 
heart through the intellect. Goldsmith and Moore ad- 
dress the intellect through the heart. The former we 
admire and revere, the latter we love. Their friendship 
is ardent, their likes and dislikes passionate and in- 
tense. 

There is a shocking amount of social depravity, but 
it is confined entirely to the lower classes. The amount 
and degradation of pauperism is incredible, Even in 



THE PEASANTRY OF IRELAND. 71 

this large city of Dublin, where there are many asylums 
and charitable institutions, trains of ragged, whining 
beggars will escort you along the street, with the most 
pitiful entreaties for help. And on Sunday they will 
run after you going to church, and beg, for God's sake, 
to help them to a morsel of bread. These, indeed, form 
a very hot bed of vileness and filth. 

T traveled through the interior of Ireland to get a 
glimpse of country life and manners. In America 
farmers belong to the middle and most comfortable 
class of society. Here they are the lowest, and often 
the most uncomfortable. In America "the peasantry is 
their country's pride," here their country's shame. The 
farmers of Ireland, by a long and systematic oppression, 
have been reduced to a state of vassalage which is an 
outrage on humanity, and a shame to a civilized coun- 
try. They enjoy but the shadow of freedom. All the 
land in Ireland is owned by the gentry in large tracts. 
The cultivators of the soil are not its owners and never 
can be. They can never hope to own any land or home. 
You can travel over whole counties, and not find a single 
farmer that owns a foot of ground, or a spot large 
enough to cover his body, outside of the public grave- 
yard. 

Some men own from ten to fifteen square miles, cut 
up into small farms, so as to <rct as large rents as possi- 
ble. And what dwelling places! Scarcely one house in 
fifty seems fit for a human habitation. Little, low, 
1 hatched hovels; house, stable and sty under one roof, 
and so near alike in filth and arrangement, that von can 
only distinguish them by the posture and physiognomy 
of their inmates. In some apartments I found pigs and 



72 OPPRESSION AM) POVERTY IX IRELAND. 

fowl, and gave them credit for all the arrangements, 
until I discovered a few plates stuck up against the wall. 
They have been trained to squalid mental habits, and 
are often insensible to the degradation of their lot. Ask 
them about their condition, and they will call it right 
well, by which they mean that they can pay their rent 
without starving. Thus live the Irish farmers. Here 
on these little patches, men and women dig and delve, 
late and early, from childhood to old age, to eke out a 
pitiful existence. They lease their farms for a certain 
period at the highest possible rates. Should the crops 
fail, their little all must go for the rent, and they be 
turned out in the bargain. Our American country 
towns are usually inhabited by persons of industrious 
habits, and who make a comfortable living. They 
have at least what life requires, if they have no more. 
Here the country villages teem with paupers. I have 
seen towns on some of these estates, numbering from 
800 to 1000 inhabitants, where not a mortal had a home 
of his own. All is owned by the proprietor of the 
estate, who sometimes will let whole streets to specu- 
lators, who have the privilege of practicing cruel extortion 
in sub-letting to renters. These land monopolies are a 
curse to any country, and the United States acts wisely 
in guarding against them in the settling of her new terri- 
tory. Some of these date their origin from the early 
conquests of Ireland. Others from the times of Crom- 
well. The estates are never divided. Recently some of 
them have become encumbered, and before they could 
be sold, a special permission was required from Parlia- 
ment. The laws of England require the oldest sou to 
fall sole heir to his father's estate, to keep it together, 



SLAVERY IN IRELAND. /3 

and thus perpetuate the power of the gentry and the 
misery of their tenants. 

Recently a case occurred which illustrates this white- 
washed system of slavery. A wealthy gentleman pur- 
chased an estate, giving employment to 1500 tenants, 
and a scanty living to 2500 souls. They and their 
fathers had been born and raised on the estates. They 
had struggled nobly and manfully to get their humble 
fare and pay their rents, but never anything more. 
The new landlord concluded to turn his farms into grass, 
and hence had no more need for all his tenants. Had 
he not a right to dismiss his workmen? He did so. 
Tenantries are crowded. They had nothing for the 
morrow. Whither should they go? As a last resort, 
they appealed to Parliament, stating that their banish- 
ment from the estate would expose them to inevitable 
starvation. Their case is still pending, and time will 
show whether England has power to save them from 
ruin. 

The selfishness of feudal times, and the greed of a 
commercial community, have not relaxed and modified 
as fast as the progress of the people have demanded. 
Some of these evils are as follows: First, The concentra- 
tion of nearly all the lands of the two islands in the 
hands of a few men, and the impossibility of the great 
body of the people owning any land or a. home of their 
own. Nearly all the west end of London is owned by 
the Marquis of Westminster, whose income is said 
to be one million of pounds. The fee of nearly all 
the old city of London is held by the Duke of Bed- 
ford. These two men have most of the people of Lon- 
don as tenants. The same thins; is true of Scotland. 



74 LANDHOLDERS IN IRELAND. 

The Duke of Argyle owns about forty square miles of the 
land of Scotland, and his domains extend from the At- 
lantic to the North Sea. Lord Kenmare owns the 
whole city of Killarney, and the whole township around 
it. None of these great proprietors will sell, and the 
law protects them. Land in London around the Bank 
of England, which corresponds to our lots in Wall 
street, New York, is worth thirty pounds a square foot, 
or $350,000 for a lot of 25 feet by 100. 

To some minds, and even to some of these poor 
tenants, there is something imposing in these large 
estates. These lords of millions make a grand display, 
and have power to train their laborers into the most 
servile, cringing submission and homage. But their 
splendor has been extracted from the squalid misery of 
their tenants, and their immense possessions are but 

4 

" A blasted mass of rank, unwieldly woe." 

Kind nature has been liberal in her gifts to Ireland. 
Tt abounds in large arable plains that furnish most en- 
chanting landscapes. But the rod of oppression has 
palsied her munificent hand and covered these lovely 
vales with a stinted growth. Yet, withal, it looks love- 
ly; still it remains pre-eminently "the Emerald Isle." 
While trembling under the blows of oppression, nature 
smiles with cheerful verdure, but man looks sad. Ire- 
land 

" Blooms a garden and a grave." 

Pauperism in Ireland is the result of a combination 
of causes. It is often ascribed to the moral and social 
influence of Romanism, which, to a certain extent, may 
be true. But the tyranny of a Protestant government 



CATHOLICS AND PROTESTANTS OF IRELAND. 75 

has done fully as much. There is far more pauperism, 
proportionally, among Roman Catholics than Pro- 
testants. In their hospitals and alms-houses, Catholics 
have more than a hundred to one. It is said that 
nine-tenths of Irish paupers in America are Roman 
Catholics. You seldom meet a Protestant Irishman in 
America. They are more industrious and thrifty, and 
can manage to live and remain at home But whole ship 
loads of Catholic paupers are sent to America; many of 
them are sent over by the proprietors to escape from 
pauper taxes. Now English Political Economists tell 
us, that persons void of manly independence and a 
decent self-respect, are not fit to own a house or patch of 
ground. First train them for it, without giving them 
the chance. Just as if you would tell a man not to go 
near the water until he can swim. And with this sem- 
blance of an excuse, the farming population of Ireland 
have been kept at bay for generations, and forced 
into a sort of rural pauperism, which, though a little 
more respectable, is not a whit more comfortable than 
pauperism in general. 

I have been surprised to find so large a proportion of 
Protestants in Ireland. In the North of Ireland, Pro- 
testants and Catholics are pretty equally divided. In 
other parts, about three-fourths of the population are 
Catholics. Both seem warmly attached to their re- 
spective Creeds. 

Birmingham is the most extensive manufacturing 
town in England, situated nearly in its centre. For 
centuries it lias been a place of note, where all manner of 
goods and metallic ware were produced. It has 
two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants. A busy, 



76 BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND. 

clattering, stirring population it lias. Even under a clear 
sky, the smoke of its numerous tall chimneys, often 
veils the cheerful light of the sun. I reached Birm- 
ingham late at night. Stepping oft' the train, I found 
neither cab nor police officer to direct me to a hotel. 
The night was dark and rainy. I felt sadly forsaken, 
as I trudged through one of the principal streets, folding 
a cloak closely around my person. It was wholly de- 
serted and silent as the grave. Who knows whither it 
will lead me? At length I spied someone through 
the dim light of the street lamps; dressed in black, 
seeming to he a female, most likely a street robber. 
The figure hailed me, and crossing t he street towards 
me, asked permission to be sheltered by my cloak. To 
which I of course, sternly objected, meanwhile laving 
firm hold of my cane, with the determination that be it 
man, ghost or satan, I would, in ease of necessity, for 
once use an arm of flesh to reform the wicked. Scarcely 
had I escaped from this ill-designing strrd prowler, 
before I was accosted by a second and third one. How 
thankfully I at length entered a very comfortable hotel. 

Like the most manufacturing cities, Birmingham 
has a class of very industrious people, and another class 
• •I' idlers and street loungers. These congregate wher- 
ever there is anything to excite or amuse. A street 
showman, or sort of a mountebank behind a curtained 
box, amused crowds of dirty men, women and children, 
from the top of which he made a rooster entertain his 
audience. Monkeys, minstrels and organ-grinders, 
seem to be liberally patronized here. 

By Sunday morning the showmen had disappeared. 
The streets were quiet. Towards the middle of the 



A SUNDAY IN BIRMINGHAM. 77 

forenoon, streams of neatly clad, orderly people crowded 
the pavements. I attended worship in an Episcopal 
Church, where a Rev. Mr. Miller preached a much more 
pointed and practical sermon than one ordinarily hears 
of Anglican ministers. His theme was " The dispersion 
and destiny of the Jews." The congregation was large 
and devout, but almost entirely composed of the higher 
classes. Therein lies the great weakness of the Church 
of England. She does not, or perhaps cannot, preach 
the Gospel to the poor. Were it not for the Dissenting 
Churches of England, those who are not connected with 
the State Church, her laboring classes would be almost 
wholly neglected. At this time, one of the most earnest 
and influential ministers among the latter, was John 
Angell James, of Birmingham. To my regret, he was 
absent from the city. 

In the evening I attended services at a so-called 
eh inch, or chapel, presided over by George Dawson, 
Esq. He seemed to be the chief of a tribe of Birm- 
ingham Mammon worshippers, whom he entertained on 
Sundays with spicy lectures. He and his followers would 
have nothing to do with the Church of Christ, as a body 
of believers, preferring that every man should be his 
own Church, and his own Saviour, too. They met in a 
large plain building, with a platform instead of a pulpit. 
Dawson was a man of no mean presence, in citizen's 
dress and citizen's beard. 

His finely trimmed black moustache, and flowing 
bushy beard, gave his face quite a classical caste. The 
chapel was large, and crowded with attentive hearers. 1 
was surprised that a man of such impudent unbelief, 
should allow any singing and praying in his presence. 



78 GEORGE W. DAWSON, ESQ. 

But he did pray ; to be sure, it sounded somewhat as if 
he talked to his equal, on a subject about which he 
claimed the right to hold his own opinion. The sing- 
ing, apart from the miserable sentiment of the hymns, 
was excellent, the large congregation joining in song 
to an extent that is rarely found in England. 

Dawson is doubtless a very scholarly gentleman — a 
man possessed of great talents and of a corrupt theology. 
He has a fine voice, and knows how to use it ; remark- 
ably self-possessed ; makes use of plain Saxon, eschew- 
ing " words of learned length and thundering sound," 
such as are too often used in more orthodox pulpits. He 
is a sort of an ecclesiastical Ishmaelite, waging war on all 
forms of biblical belief; indeed, seemingly delighting in 
nothing so much as in a fight. And yet evidently not 
without a kind and tender heart. 

His lecture this evening was on the introduction of 
Christianity into England by Augustine. Not a ser- 
mon, but a lecture. With Dawson a text from history 
is as good as one from the Bible. It was a bold and 
spicy discourse. He showed that Christianity was first 
brought among the Saxons in England by the Pope. 
That it was unhistorical for the Church of England to 
torture her succession, if such she have, through any 
channel but that of the Catholic Church. He says that 
the Monasteries and Monks have been the promoters 
and preservers of learning; that the priests have been 
the mediators between the rich and the poor, humbling 
the proud and exalting the low ; that Papal errors have 
originated in truth ; and that the Popes have been among 
the worst men that ever lived. He treats Protestants 
and Papists with equal fairness and equal fury; treats 



dawson's creed. 79 

them as the anatomist treats his subject, dissecting the 
parts for the instruction rather than edification of his hear- 
ers. He alleges that in the Roman and Protestant 
Churches, Priestcraft and Kingcraft have usurped do- 
minion, and now he shouts: "At them, ye men of 
Dawson !" 

This man is brimful of learning, and understands 
how to use it. He leads his hearers through the fields 
of poetry, philosophy and history, and plucks from 
them choicest flowers at will. He uses poets and 
prophets, history and the bible, Homer and Hero- 
dotus, Plato and Paul, Socrates and Christ, as well as 
all Martyrs and Confessors, as sources of information — 
to him all equally reliable. His lecture bristled with 
sarcasm; was full of faith and levity, of ridicule and 
religious earnestness. Withal, Dawson, with his twelve 
or fifteen hundred Birmingham followers, gave me 
much to think about. Alas ! he entertains and amuses 
them, but strips them of every vestige of faith, if such 
they still have. No saint or sinner can such a mind 
lead to the lamb of God. He serves his disciples as 
Theodore Parker served his. One day an intelligent 
lady admirer of Parker remarked to him, weeping : " ( ) 
Mr. Parker, you have taken away my Lord, and I 
know not where you have laid Him." And Parker 
could give her no comfort. Neither could Dawson have 
given her any. 



CHAPTER VI. 



STRATFORD-ON-AVON. OXFORD. LONDON. ST. PATH, S. 

WESTMINSTER ABBEY. EXETER HALE. 

DR. CUMMING. BAPTIST NOEL. 

SPTJRGEON. 



Stratford-on-Avon, the birth-place and early 
home of Shakespeare, is one of the most frequented 
shrines of England. It is a market town of Warwick- 
shire, 96 miles northwest of London. With a popu- 
lation of scarcely 3500, but for its connection with the 
early history of Shakespeare it would be little known 
outside of its own shire. The land arourd it is fertile 
and well improved. It has a history of more than a 
thousand years, and in all that time its most glorious 
event was the birth of a child in an humble family, 
which was christened as William Shakespeare. After 
partaking of a meal at an unpretending inn, I leisurely 
strolled through the plain and poorly-improved streets, 
eno-aging in a conversation with a townsman here and 
there. They all complain of dull times, yet pride them- 
selves in living in the birth-place of the great dramatist. 
The town has no manufactures to stimulate trade, and 
its inhabitants say that if it were not for Shakespeare 
and the farmers they could not live. 

The house in which Shakspeare Avas born is the chief 
attraction for tourists. It stands on Henley street, the 
principal street of the place. It is a plain, two-story 

80 



THE GRAVE OF SHAKESPEARE. 81 

building, whose style oddly contrast with that of the more 
modern houses around it. Its several apartments are 
preserved, as far as possible, in the same condition in 
which they were in the poet's lifetime. The small cham- 
ber in which he was born receives the most attention. 
Its walls are thickly covered with the autographs of 
visitors, among which are the names of poets, philoso- 
phers, princes, and rulers of the earth. In its best days 
it must have been a plain, substantial village dwelling. 
As there was danger of its crumbling into ruins e'er 
long, it has recently been bought for the English nation 
for $20,000, and funds have been raised to keep it 
in repair. 

At the lower edge of the town, on the bank of the 
Avon, is the old church, under whose interior pavement 
lies the dust of Shakespeare. It is a large cruciform 
building, and well preserved and repaired. But for the 
well-known inscription on a horizontal stone covering 
his grave, blessing the man who spares, and cursing him 
who disturbs his bones, his remains would long since 
have been removed to Westminster Abbey. I strolled 
through the grounds around the church, and along the 
shaded banks of the river, dreamily musing over the 
once familiar haunts of William Shakespeare's boyhood. 
He never forgot or ceased to hold in kindly remem- 
brance his native place. After he had a European 
fame he bought a line mansion here, then and thereafter 
known as "the great house." It is said to have been 
the largest house in the town. Through all his literary 
triumphs his memory fondly turned hither. After re- 
peatedly donating gifts for the benefit of Stratford, he 
finally bequeathed to it his sacred dust, which makes 
6 



82 THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 

it one of the few shrines around which gather the literary 
pilgrims of all nations. 

I approached Oxford with peculiar feelings of 
delight, for who would not rejoice in the prospect of 
getting but a glimpse of one of the most famous seats of 
learning in the world. I expected to find the Uni- 
versity buildings all grouped together in one place, after 
the American fashion ; but instead of this, I found the 
twenty colleges of which it is composed scattered over 
different parts of the city. The buildings compared with 
ours, are models of architectural beauty. The different 
styles are in themselves subjects of study, which the 
students can investigate at their leisure. Their libraries 
are very extensive. The Bodleian library alone contains 
half a million of volumes and manuscripts, a catacomb 
of the minds of a noble army, with " many a quaint and 
curious volume of old and half-forgotten lore." The 
parks belonging to the different colleges afford most de- 
lightful promenades. Hundreds of acres with walks 
through bowers of veteran beech and elm, whose over- 
topping branches form a pleasant canopy, vocal with the 
songs of merry birds, furnish refreshing places of retire- 
ment. These are intersected by streams of water, where 
professors and pupils 

" With patient angle t»-oll the tinny deep." 
I strolled over " Addison's walk" along the banks of a 
lovely stream, where the humorous good-natured " Spec- 
tator" was wont to beguile his leisure hours. Nature 
and art combine to lend to this institution charms that 
I have never met with anywhere else. Their rooms, re- 
fectories, and halls, are not calculated to drill the 
student into a gloomy task-bearing mood. Amid these 



THE STUDENTS OF OXFORD. 83 

.surroundings of the beautiful, their minds inhale a re- 
fining atmosphere. Their botanical garden contains a 
vast collection of plants, from the burning sands of the 
South to the clime of the frozen North. Many of the 
flowers were just peeping into bloom, and presented a 
scene of surpassing beauty. These Oxonians have never 
fallen into the baneful error of an unnatural, ascetic 
system of education. In some of our American colleges 
the students are trained to abstract themselves from the 
cheerful atmosphere of Nature, to inure themselves to 
habits of morose, undisturbed study, within walls and 
cells of gloomy prisons. They may be urged, but often 
urged in vain, to recreate by walking in the open air, 
where nothing but dusty, noisy streets and bleak pave- 
ments await them. The difference in the effect is mani- 
fest. Students here do not appear like pale, sickly 
plants shut out from sunlight. Their features glow with 
the cheerful flush of health. Their minds seem to have 
a vigorous, unhampered play in the cheerful, joyous 
tenements of sound bodies. 

Oxford has some dark features in her background, 
and what ancient institution has not? The nursery of 
philosophers, statesmen and poets, she has had her 
martyrs and murders too. In passing through her 
different colleges I was frequently reminded of the 
tragic scenes that have been enacted there. Here were 
exhibited the virtues and weaknesses of religious zeal, 
repentings and recantings, men trying to shape their 
religion to suit the court, and in the end, doomed to 
shape it wrong ; one day acting mutually in favor of a 
cause, the next condemning one another to a stake or 
scaffold for doing it. A statue and pompous epitaph of 



84 BR. PUSEY. 

Cardinal Wolsey, a monument to Craumer, Ridley and 
Latimer, near the spot where they were burned, and the 
pulpit in which they first preached; aye, these provoked 
painful reflections, but, 

"Let the dead past bury its dead." 

I had a view of the noted Dr. Pusey, of Tractarian 
memory. Though 60 years of age, he retains all 
the buoyancy of a man in middle life, and his features 
have uot the slightest indication of that severe mental 
and moral conflict, which one would suppose him to 
have passed through. A person would not infer that 
his name had become a badge of theological odium 
throughout the Protestant world. Next to Pope Pius 
IX, there is not a man living who has been made a 
more prominent target for the artillery of Protestantism. 
And yet, no cloud or powder -smoke has settled on his 
brow, no scar of care lingers on his face. 

Although his name has been most prominently 
identified with the Tractarian movement, I think he 
has received far more credit, or discredit, than he 
deserves. He was by no means the originator nor the 
instigator, and not even the occasion of the party that 
bears his name. He simply stood god-father at its 
christening. He is only the flag-staff of his party. He 
did not reach his present position through the conflicts 
and struggles of a Reformer, or a Deformer, as you 
please, but was drifted there by the tendencies and cur- 
rent around him. The fault lies in the current in 
which he moved. Puseyism is a legitimate link of the 
Anglican Church itself. Dr. Pusey was only one of the 
workmen that assisted in giving it outward shape and 
form. The link was made on an Anglican anvil, with 



ANGLICAXIPM. 85 

Anglican tools, of Anglican material, by Anglican men, 
and that it is destined to become the " middle ring" of 
the Anglican Church, is at least a possible, if not a pro- 
bable, issue. Tractarianism is only a development of 
principles that had existed in germ in the Anglican 
Church, and whither it tends is clearly shown by the 
history of some of its prominent champions, who have 
drifted into the harbor of Romanism. Unless the re- 
maining Tractarians will have power to envelope much 
of what they have rfaveloped, it will be morally and logi- 
cally impossible for them consistently to avoid the desti- 
nation which some of their brethren have reached. 

The friction between the high and low church party 
is at times extremely violent. Recently the Bishop of 
Oxford attempted to officiate in one of the chapels of 
this city, where he was assailed with the most abusive 
language, cries of the crowd telling him to make papists 
at home. The excitement at length became so intense 
that he was obliged to retire. I think there is much 
more vitality in the dissenting bodies than in the Church 
of England. She is unequally yoked with a companion 
that is a constant impediment to her progress and pros- 
perity. Her servile dependence upon the Court, and 
the corrupt influence of patronage and place, hinder the 
cultivation of a vigorous personal activity. She is 
hung all around with dead weights that drag her to the 
earth. She is entangled in the meshes of political 
intrigue, and must dance as the Parliament pipes. 
Parliament and the press are at present discussing this 
point with great freedom. It is averred that doting, 
imbecile Bishops are retained in their places, when they 
should either be superannuated or supplanted ; that in 






86 CHURCH AND STATE IX ENGLAND. 

many instances, the Bishoprics are filled by the most in- 
competent persons ; which is doubtless true. I heard 
three sermons in one day, and the poorest in diction and 
delivery was in St. Paul's, before the judges, dignitaries 
and mitred heads of the realm. The Church of England 
has much to admire and deplore. Her large charity 
schools are doing a blessed work among the poor, and 
her immense wealth could do much more. There is much 
of the devotional element in her services, and much 
that ends in mere pomp and gaudy display. In St. 
Paul's and Westminster Abbey everything smacks of 
the Court. Their singing and praying is performer} 
with the precision of the opera. And so with most of 
the Cathedral services. Their form of church service, 
though possessing excellence, seems to Lack variety. To 
use the same forms for week-days and Sundays, 
from year to year, before the same congregation, culti- 
vates the habit, but tires the devotion of true worship ; 
at least so I have found it ; but perhaps I have not had the 
right kind of training to appreciate it. It would be a 
blessing for the Church of England, if she could procure 
a divorce from her unsuitable companion, for their 
tastes, dispositions and inclinations certainly should, 
and I hope they do, differ essentially. I doubt whether 
God has ever joined them, and therefore it could be no 
very criminal act to put them asunder ; and I am sure it 
would add to the comfort and happiness of both parties. 
Their union is on the ground of policy, and not of affec- 
tion. 

London is the largest city in the world. In no 
other one place on the face of the earth, are there four 
millions of human beings hived together. Like a muni- 



THE CITY OF LONDON. Hi 

cipal Lambert, it is an overgrown city, the diseases and 
corruptions of whose corpulent body seem beyond the 
reach of a remedy. 

It was a charming Sunday morning. Well now, 
after careful reflection, I remember that its beginning 
was after all not so pleasant. The London sky is 
treacherous. Often when it seems the fairest it is the 
foulest. The clearest sky can improvise a shower in 
five minutes. There are few rainless days in the year in 
this city. On the fairest morning you see Londoners 
leave home with an umbrella. Foolish people, you 
think, as you complacently walk the streets without 
yours. Ere long your dripping garments remind you, 
that of the two you are the less wise. What with us 
would be an ordinary morning fog, will there give you 
a thorough soaking. Emerson says of the London 
climate: "In a fine day, you are looking up a chimney, 
in a foul day, down one." 

Alas, that I must endure a rainy London Sunday, I 
thought in the morning. For a while the fickle sky 
became charming, just long enough to entice the 
strangers in the city into the streets, to give them a re- 
freshing bath. Despite this deceitful climate the Lon- 
doners spend a great part of Sunday out of doors. 
The sidewalks of the principal thoroughfares — Cheap- 
side, Picadilly, Fleet street, the Strand, Oxford street, 
&c, are crowded with people of all ranks and conditions. 
Crowds stream towards the large Parks, around the 
edge of the city. Laboring people with their families, 
who are confined to their shops and hovels on week-days, 
seek the shade trees and grass-bordered walks of Hyde 
or Regent's Park, Into the darker places of London — 



88 ST. PATTIES CHURCH, LONDON. 

the neglected lanes and alleys of the degraded — 1 did 
not venture. The reports of others tell us that hun- 
dreds of thousands of poorer Londoners lead a worse than 
Pagan life. 

I am living in King street, near the famous Guild 
Hall — near St. Paul's, too. To St. Paul's we will go. 
What a grand Christian Temple this is; live hundred 
feet long, one hundred feet wide, with a dome sur- 
mounting the centre, whose cross is four hundred and 
four feet above the pavement in the street. Almost two 
hundred years ago the first stone for the erection of tli^ 
present building was laid — for there was a Cathedral 
here before. Its celebrated architect, Sir Christopher 
Wren, was thirty-five years in building it. It cost over 
$3,700,000. The great builder lies buried in a cell of 
the Cathedral. A black marble slab marks his place of 
rest, with the inscription: " If you seek his monument, 
look around you." That is to say, St. Paul's Cathedral, 
which his genius planned and built, is his mouument. 
And a nobler one few mortals have ever had. On this 
black marble slab I read this lesson, too, that every 
one must build his own monument, if it is to publish 
anything about him worth remembering. A Christian's 
noblest and most enduring monument is a noble, useful, 
and pure life. 

Strange, that such a world-renowned Cathedral 
should be hedged in by short, narrow, crooked streets. 
The massive walls look quite dark, almost black, from 
age. People say, it is no wonder, since it was built In- 
taxing the coal brought to London. We will step in. 
You see how the floor, columns, roof— all are carved 
out of stone. Room there is here, as much as ten large 



A SERMON TN ST. PATJl/S. S9 

churches ordinarily furnish. From ten to fifteen thou- 
sand people could find standing room here. Rows of 
thick, lofty columns support the roof. Along the Avail 
hang rare and costly paintings, and statues of some of 
England's great men look down from many a niche. 
A dim, dreary light gives it a cheerless aspect. 

We faintly hear the voice of some one. Yonder, at 
the extreme end of the church, the people seem to l>< ! 
engaging in worship. We will join them. There al 
one end of the building is an apartment, but partly en- 
closed, as large as an ordinary-sized church, where the 
usual services of St. Paul are held. Tt is a church 
within a church. Along the sides, near the pulpit, are 
stationary seats, called " stalls." There a few dozen 
boys, in white robes, are seated. They chant part of the 
service. Plain seats are occupied by a few hundred 
people. I, along with a few dozen others, have to 
stand during the service. The clergyman officiating 
preaches an earnest sermon ; reads it closely. The ma- 
jority of the congregation are ladies; and evidently very 
few, if any, of the lower or laboring classes are among 
them. 

Daily religious services are held on week-days, morning 
and evening ; only the usual service of the Book of Common 
Prayer is read, without a sermon. While this is held at 
one end of the church, travelers, and others walk 
through the building, and see its sights; chatting freely 
with one another, without seeming to disturb the worship- 
ers or the worshipers them. Among these high columns 
and arches the voice of the preacher and of the singers 
is soon lost. Cathedrals are grand structures ; sermons 
hewn out of stone, preaching to the ages. But for the 






90 FLEET STREET AND THE STRAND ON SUNDAY. 

preaching of the Gospel, through human speech, they are 
ill adapted. 

It is a pleasant Sunday afternoon ; I think we can 
trust the sky. We will attend worship at Westminster 
Abbey. We stroll by St. Paul's, through Fleet street. 
We shall have to take our time through the crowds that 
throng the sidewalks. Yonder you see an old arch 
spanning the street. This, with its entire building, is the 
famous Temple Bar, on which England hung the heads 
of her rebels, as a terror to evil-doers; the heads of 
some of her martyrs, too, were exposed here. The Bar 
is the limit of the old city — the end of Fleet street ; 
beyond this, the street is called The Strand. You see 
that the stream bearing us along can carry tens of thou- 
sands of people through this street in one day. Many 
look like hard-working people, and some are of noble 
blood. Would you believe it that yonder gentleman, 
with iron-gray whiskers, in a plain black suit, is Lord 

, and the lady at his arm, with a plain, neat 

dress, is his wife, both walking meekly along with the 
common crowd? Do noble people then look like ordi- 
nary mortals? Indeed they do, and none more so. 
Many have just as good sense as those of more common 
blood. Indeed, not a few of them, are good Christian 
people, who would not designedly hurt the feelings of 
the beggars on the street. Many of these fine coaches 
rolling along the street bear the families of the nobility. 
A liveried driver, on the elevated front seat, and two 
other servants on a high seat in the rear, all dressed in 
uniform, with tall hats, short breeches, and red, round- 
bodied, broad-skirted coats, have charge of a few ol the 
titled gentry within, They, too, have many wants and 



A RELIGIOUS SERVICE IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 91 

woes, in common with the servants outside. Toothache 
hurts them as badly, and when they are hungry good 
food tastes as sweetly to them as it does to the man that 
holds the reins. The most of the gayest people you see 
on the Strand this Sunday afternoon are wealthy shop- 
keepers, and some that are not wealthy. Among the plain- 
est-looking, and least showy of all the wealthier people 
seen here, are the noble families. Altogether there is 
far less extravagance and gaiety in dress seen here than 
one sees in the principal streets of our American cities. 

But where are all these people going to? Xine out 
of ten are going to Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park, 
whither many thousand people resort on pleasant Sun- 
day afternoons. Of course, the more earnest Christian 
people spend part of the day in acts of piety and 
worship. 

But our gadding about after the fashions and follies 
of London people on the Strand, is very unbecoming 
on our way to church. Here we are approaching West- 
minster Abbey, whose walls and finely-chiseled statues 
and turrets are almost as black as the inner wall of 
a chimney. You see it is built in the form of a cross. 
We will enter the cross-beam or south transept. The 
service has commenced. We will here be near the 
pulpit, where we can hear the word of God, before its 
sound is lost among the lofty arches. The minister 
reads his sermon, written in a finished style. He says 
nothing new, yet the old truth is ever new. His sen- 
tences are all carefully rounded. At least two thousand 
people are present; all hearing with close attention. 
Though large, it is a select congregation, composed 
chiefly of travelers, literary and wealthy people, 



92 NO ROOM FOR THE POOR. 

Doubtless this clergyman is one of London's great 
men ; for no ordinary man is allowed to officiate 
in Westminster Abbey. He has sense enough not un- 
duly to parade his scholarship before a worshiping con- 
gregation. Very singular it is that he announces the 
hymns, reads the prayers and Scripture lessons, and his 
sermon, all in the same tone and modulation of voice. 
This one finds in the most Church-of-England ministers. 
They seem to have acquired a certain sing-song monoto- 
nous manner of expression, from the reading of their 
Liturgical services, which they exhibit in all their public 
ministrations. 

St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey are used mainly 
by a certain class of the aristocracy. All large cities 
have such establishments. The Church of England has 
more than any other denomination. Emerson says: 
"Their religion is a quotation, their church a doll. 
Their Gospel is : 'By taste are ye saved.' ' Emerson is 
an unbeliever, yet in this critique he is not far from the 
truth. A certain member of the English Parliament 
declared that he had never seen a poor man in a ragged 
coat inside of a church. As for the ragged coat, its 
absence from church might be more to the credit than 
blame of a religious community, if it supplied its people 
with better garments. Yet, that the Church of England 
has lost its hold upon the common people, is ac- 
knowledged and deplored by many of her best men. In 
most of her congregations, you feel that yon are among 
a kid-gloved form of religion, suited only for a very 
select class of people. 

Now that the services in the Abbey are ended, there 
will be no harm to stroll through this venerable sanctu- 



"the poet's corner." 93 

ary. You see, during the services we have been stand- 
ing in "The Poet's Corner." Here are gathered the 
busts and dust of many of England's great men. Some 
are buried beneath this pavement; others have tablets 
here. Spencer, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Southey, Camp- 
bell, Goldsmith, and a host of others are immortalized 
in this Poet's Corner. Some have epitaphs in English, 
others in Latin. Johnson wrote Goldsmith's in Latin, 
saying that he would never consent to disgrace the walls 
of Westminster Abbey with an English inscription. 
Spencer died " from lack of bread," and was buried here 
by the then Earl of Essex. Thus after the world has 
starved the men who give her light and glory, she 
builds their monuments. Many a British scholar cheer- 
fully endures her persecution and poverty, and toils to 
the end of life like a Titan, with the inciting hope that 
he can fight his way into "The Poet's Corner." Like 
St. Paul's, you see the Abbey has many cell-like chapels 
along the side of the building, in which reposes the dust 
of some of England's kings and nobility. 

Back of the high altar you see a chapel whose floor 
is elevated. It is reached by a back stairway. It is 
called the "Chapel of the Kings." Here Queen Vic- 
toria was crowned. Indeed the last twenty-four Sover- 
eigns of England were crowned in this Royal Chapel. 
Think of the immense labor required to cut such a 
building out of stone — columns, roof, floor all of stone; 
a building with more than a dozen smaller churches 
under its roof. 

Now we have seen how and where the learned and 
wealthy worship God. Where can we find the poor at 
worship? This evening there is to be a service at 



94 A MEETING AT EXETER HALL. 

Exeter Hall for the special benefit of poor people. Many 
earnest Christians see full well that it is hard for the 
London poor to enter the kingdom of heaven. For the 
last few days posters and the newspapers have called 
upon the neglected poor to attend this service, no matter 
how ragged and dirty their garments. Exeter Hall is a 
large edifice where all manner of mass meetings are held. 
The hall is filled with a crowd of people — perhaps three 
or four thousand. Possibly one-tenth are perceptibly 
poor — dirty and poorly clad. As these cannot afford to 
have hymn books, a printed slip is circulated gmong the 
congregation, containing eight hymns; and beautiful 
hymns they are. Such as: "Come let us join our cheer- 
ful song;" "All hail the power of Jesus' name;" 
"Before Jehovah's awful throne;" "When I survey the 
wondrous cross;" "From all that dwell below the 
skies." On the large platform the preacher, with several 
dozen of Christian friends, is seated. He seems to be a 
middle-aged man, bent on making himself understood. 
" What think ye of Christ?" is his text, on which he 
discources in a simple, aifectionate way. Here all 
around us poor, hard-working mechanics are seated, in 
their greasy working clothes, attentive and devout. How 
I pity them. They look sad, like men who rarely have 
any pleasure ; to whom the hope of heaven w T ould be a 
great relief. Alas, Exeter Hall cannot save them. 
These poor people need sympathizing pastors, plain 
commodious churches, and Sunday Schools for them 
and their children. 

On another evening I attended a temperance meet- 
ing in Exeter Hall. A number of distinguished and 
able speakers were present. The most effective speech 



A TELLING SPEECH. 95 

was delivered by an uneducated sailor. He told the 
large congregation ir his blunt sailor's brogue, how he 
had been a poor drunken "tar/' spending all his earn- 
ings for liquor, and leaving his wife and children to 
suffer want. His family lived in wretchedness, of 
which he was the cause. And a sense of his sin against 
them made him take to his cups all the more. At 
length by the mercy of God, he was enabled to reform. 
"Do you ask me what I have gained?" he said. "I 
have gained my true manhood; I feel proud, under 
God, that I am a kind husband and father. I have a 
neat little cottage home, all paid for; I can clothe my 
wife and children tidily, and walk with them to the 
house of God ; instead of my former rags, you see I am 
decently clad and in my right mind ;" holding up a gold 
watch, he said, "instead of my flask, I have a gold 
watch in my pocket; I have the dearest wife and chil- 
dren you have ever seen ; instead of spending my time 
in dram-shops, I find an earthly heaven at home. Do 
you ask what I have gained? I have gained character, 
faith in Christ, and a hope of heaven ; I have become a 
man, a Christian husband and a father, of whom my 
children need not blush." This was an effective speech 
— equal to the best that Lord Shaftsbury has delivered 
on this platform. Many a poor, tempted brother man 
had tears in his eyes when the grateful sailor took his 
seat, and with a sigh, perhaps resolved for a hundredth 
time, to abandon his cups. 

The late Dr. J. W. Alexander says: "I think 
Baptist Noel's preaching the right thing; just talking 
over the Word." Alexander is good authority. I must 
hear a man whose preaching is "the right thing" — 






90 THE HON. AND REV. BAPTIST NOEL. 

especially as I find from experience how difficult it is to 
acquire this " right thing." 

Noel is the son of an English Nobleman ; was for 
many years a prominent clergyman of the Church of 
England; at length withdrew and became a Baptist 
minister; since then, for twenty years he has been 
pastor of John's Street Chapel, Bedford Row. The 
Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel he is often called — a 
double title which combines his civil and clerical stand- 
ing. 

Now for Bedford Row, which I have great difficulty 
to find. It was Sunday morning, just after the usual 
morning; London shower. After tracing the route on 
the map, I started. It seemed a great way off, towards 
the outskirts of the city. Vainly I inquired in neigh- 
boring streets for Baptist Noel's Church. People on 
our side of the Atlantic know more about Noel than 
those living under the shadow of his church. 

Noel is already a man past the meridian of life, very 
plain in his dress, simple in his style of preaching, and 
unassuming in his manner; yet withal, showing a cer- 
tain courtly gentility, which reminds one of his char- 
acter, when he was the idol of the most aristocratic- 
circles. His text was Isaiah xlix. 16, 17. He showed 
what weapons had been formed against the Church, 
such as superstition, ecclesiastical authority, the learning 
and criticism of biblical skepticism; other weapons, too, 
he described as existing in the Catholic and Protestant 
Churches, which have not prospered. He spoke of the 
slanders of the world against Christians, imputing 
hypocrisy and rebellion to those who obey God rather 
than man, and whose pure lives disprove and silence them. 



DR. CUMMING. 97 

This sermon was a talking over the text rather than 
an elaborate, clearly divided discourse; just the opposite 
from what is heard in St. Paul's and Westminster 
Abbey. Nothing new or specially striking, but pointed 
and practical throughout, like a man talking with his 
coachman, whose every word the coachman can under- 
stand. 

The very plain, large church was well filled with a plain- 
looking congregation, having a larger proportion of men 
than one usually finds in London churches. Noel looks 
like a very humble and very earnest man. He preached 
without a manuscript, of course, otherwise he could not 
have "talked over the Word." 

For twenty years Dr. Gumming has been one of the 
noted London preachers. He is famous as the most au- 
dacious Millenarian prophet of modern times. I forget 
how often he has proclaimed the near approach of the 
world's end, and still the end is not yet. A man whose 
published calculations so often turn out fallacious, must 
have an unconquerable faith in his mathematics. Ordi- 
nary men would long since have become disgusted with 
the tenacious vitality of the world as it is, refusing to 
end when its doom has been so clearly fixed and defined 
by figures and facts. 

In his own way Gumming is unquestionably a man 
of mark. What that way precisely is, I have never 
been able to see. He is a born Scotch Presbyterian, 
and has long been pastor of the Presbyterian Church in 
Grown Court, Drury Lane. In the dusk of a Sunday 
evening I cautiously hunted my way through narrow 
streets to Cumming's church. Before one of the most 
unattractive churches which I saw in London a crowd of 
7 



98 CUMMINGS* CHURCH. 

one or two hundred people were standing. The doors 
were guarded. I pushed my way towards one of the 
entrances. Why can other people enter as they come, and 
we are kept standing without ? They are pew-holders, 
and we happen to be strangers. When the hour for 
worship had arrived, the doors were opened, and we 
were taken to the pews whose owners had not come. 
The interior of the church is little more attractive than 
the exterior. Gumming is now about sixty years of 
age. He wears a black robe, is tall and well built; a 
man of fine presence, and possessing the elements of a 
popular preacher. He has a pleasing voice, fluent de- 
livery, uses choice simple language, and preaches without 
a manuscript. His text from 2 Cor. x. 4, gave him an 
opportunity to belabor the Church of Rome for her 
using "carnal weapons." His sermon, delivered in a 
iree and somewhat conversational way, commanded the 
closest attention of the large congregation. Though 
ministering in an unusually plain-looking church, at 
an obscure place, in a narrow street, Gumming never 
lacks hearers, even the aisles back into the doorways 
being frequently crowded. Among his worshipers all 
classes, from the Queen down to London laborers, have 
been represented. ^V r e .must hear Spurgeon. He 
preaches across the Thames, in Surrey Music Hall. 
Fortunately it is a rainless Sunday morning; for I must 
stand at least half an hour, among hundreds of people 
before the church door. Crowds with pew tickets are 
admitted; we patiently bide our time. At length a cab 
is cautiously driven through the throng to the door. A 
number of liveried policemen at once step up to it. An 
oval-faced, somewhat stout young man, of medium 



SPURGEON. 99 

height, in a plain black dress, steps out and follows the 
police, who open a way for him through the crowd. How 
young he looks, a little stooping like a true Englishman, 
fond of roast beef, plump and well-fed. A few minutes 
later the church doors open. I happened to be near a 
door and was pressed through it by a crushing crowd in 
a most ungraceful and undevout style, and landed on the 
window sill of one of the galleries, from which I had a 
view of the greater part of the building. The aisles, 
stairways, doorways, up to the third gallery, were 
crowded, and a considerable number were hanging 
around the outside of the doors and windows. 

What brings this multitude of people here ? The 
transient flash of an ambitious theatrical preacher? So 
I had suspected. But my mind was disabused before I 
left the building. Spurgeon possesses rare gifts as a 
pulpit orator. He has a kind face; as closely shaven as 
that of a Catholic priest; his black hair neatly arranged, 
yet not betraying an undue use of the brush. In black 
citizen's dress — Spurgeon abhors a robe. He ascends 
the pulpit as though unconscious of the immense crowd 
watching him with a fixed gaze. Every available space 
in the vast building crowded even up to the pulpit stairs, 
and in the rear of the pulpit — what a sea of faces. He 
seems far off from me on his little pulpit. Can I, can J 
the people throughout this building hear him? hear him 
when those standing become tired and restless? He an- 
nounces a hymn; his clear voice rings every syllable 
through the entire building; a voice used in a natural 
tone, without the least perceptible exertion. A sudden 
hush ensues. Not a whisper is heard. Among these 
thousands of people, "roughs" and low-bred, refined and 



100 SPURGBON ON THE PUJ.PIT. 

well-bred, I saw not an instance of undevont demeanor; 
save the dashing of the crowd pell-mell into the church, 
when the doors were opened, bearing- me before them 
like a bark amid the broken blocks of ice during a spring 
freshet. I do not wish to be held responsible for en- 
tering a place of worship so undevoutly. So much for 
riding on the crest of the wave. 

The singing was grand. Thousands of voices join- 
ing in hymns, with whose words and music they were 
familiar. Spurgeon understands the power of sacred 
song. Without this his sermons would lose part of their 
effect. ( )n a certain occasion some of the congregation 
failed to join in the hymn. At the end of the first 
verse, he remarked: "Do you think 1 am going to be 
put off with such singing? Nay, verily. Neither will 
the Lord accept of it. Begin this verse again, and let 
all help to sing." I need hardly say that his rebuke 
was followed with a storm of song. 

His prayer reminded me of a child begging its 
mother to forgive a naughty act, knowing' that the 
mother would press it in her arms and bosom, and kiss 
it. There is no attempt at eloquence, but a simple 
child-like pleading with (Grod. But little to which all of 
his congregation could not say amen ; a rare thing in free 
prayers. 

His sermon was very simple, abounding in homely 

and telling illustrations. He is a born actor. His 

■ ° > ■ — ■ 

manner and style are perfectly natural; no studied ges- 
tures or simpering affectation; no overstrained putting 
on of piety; no cant; no highly-wrought figures or sen- 
timental bombast, but the earnest direct speech of a soul 
that is conscious of the solemnity of having charge of 



SPURGEON's CONGREGATION". 101 

immortal beings. His sermon was perfectly transpa- 
rent. There was no nibbling at disputed questions of 
theology, nothing equivocal, not much to excite future 
reflection and investigation, no points which he left his 
hearers to analyze or disentangle. The dish had just 
enough nourishment for the occasion, without giving 
you a supply for future use. He made me feel that he 
felt an interest in his hearers — in me. Several times 
unbidden tears rolled down his cheeks, which he seemed 
desirous to conceal. Occasionally a simple common- 
place sentence seemed to thrill every heart and set 
rough and dirty day laborers around me to weeping. Here 
and there a droll way of putting a solemn truth started 
a smile on many a face. His published sermons give 
you a poor idea of the man. They look tame on paper. 
You must hear them preached by himself; through his 
musical ringing voice; putting yourself in sympathy 
with him; letting him touch you with his psychological 
wand; watching the glow of his heart and mind playing 
on his face, now in smiles through glistening tears, then 
in frowns. 

Who are all these people? Members of Parliament 
and street-sweepers. The great bulk are laboring 
people. 1 saw colliers over whose dusty faces penitent 
tears left perceptible traces. I don't wonder that this 
man refuses to visit America or any other place. No 
man can wish for a more enjoyable place than such a 
field of usefulness with such a power to cultivate it. 

Nations, like individuals, cannot "see themselves as 
others see them." England has sores which her political 
physicians cannot heal, diseases which all the unrivalled 
virtues of her Magna Charta cannot reach. She has 



102 FARM LIFE IN ENGLAND. 

abolished African slavery in her territories, while she 
gives to her Irish peasantry only the semblance of free- 
dom, and permits petty tyrants to lord it over her most 
generous and loyal subjects with unrelenting cruelty. 
With a national debt of a thousand millions of pounds 
sterling, equal to five times as many dollars, her 
people must submit to an enormous taxation. Still, 
Great Britain holds a proud position among the nations 
of the earth. She is great in her mineral, moral, and 
intellectual resources; great in her history; great in her 
present power, and has the prospect of a great and brilliant 
future. 

English country scenery is very pleasing. The fields are 
enclosed with rank bushy hedges, along which trees are 
growing in a sort of careless order, imparting to the 
landscape a grove-like appearance. The merry month 
of May can make the homeliest country look happy, 
but England needs not its vernal ornaments ; in 
such a country even bleak December must have its 
charms. Whilst in Ireland a farmer's life seems the 
most undesirable, here it is the very picture of inde- 
pendence and comfort. Nearly all the landowners of 
Ireland live in England. They let their immense farms 
to speculators, who practice unscrupulous extortion upon 
the peasants in sub-letting. They give them miserable 
apologies of dwellings, in which many an American 
farmer would scruple to pen his cattle. All the rents 
are sent to the landlords in England, thus draining the 
money from the country, and subjecting it to a periodi- 
cal impoverishing process. But in England it is far 
otherwise. Here the personal appearance of farmers is a 
reflection of their prosperity — florid, oval, sleek-looking 



SOCIAL HABITS (N ENGLAND. 103 

gentlemen, fac-similes of the English country squires, 
whose faces speak good wishes to everybody, and whose 
bodily dimensions are an honor to the soil that supports 
them. Men that will leave their mark in any crowd. 
In Ireland farmers have a meagre, woe-be-gone appear- 
ance. In England they approach the shape of an egg, 
the symbol of substance. To be sure, some of them 
complain of hard times. One whom I met regretted 
the conduct of American farmers, who glut the British 
market with their corn. He said he had annually lost a 
thousand dollars for the last two years. But even this 
was to his credit, for it requires a farmer of some calibre 
to endure such a loss. 

The English generally look remarkably healthy. 
Both sexes seem to retain the flush and vigor of health 
far beyond the meridian of life. Whether this be owing 
to good habits, good climate, good living, or all these 
together, I am unable clearly to ascertain. With the 
sterner sex I think wine and beer are entitled to some 
of the credit. England is in temperance where the 
United States were twenty years ago. The bar is the 
most prominent piece of furniture in all the hotels. 
You can seldom dine without having glasses aside of 
your plate, and being asked what kind of liquor you 
wish to drink. Almost every hotel has a room fur- 
nished with tables and pipes, where you can find a 
group during all hours of the day (piaffing their favorite 
beverage in copious potions. In making friends, espe- 
cially among commercial and legal gentlemen, a person 
is constantly confronted by the bottle. The lower 
classes carry the bottle with them, and in traveling on 
the cars they would sometimes urge me to "take a 






104 RUM AND TOBACCO IN ENGLAND. 

little," with an importunity worthy of a hotter cause. 
Drinking here is not only connived at, hut approved of 
hy the mass of professing Christians. Withal, I have 
met but few persons perceptibly drunk, which may he 
owing to their peculiar manner of drinking. 

The diet of the English is generally more simple 
than ours, and withal more nourishing. They have 
* not such an endless diversity of dishes, and live not 
so much on frothy, half-baked pastries and desserts. 
Their climate is more uniform than ours, not subject to 
4 such sudden transitions from heat to cold, so trying and 
often fatal to the human system. Their sky possesses a 
remarkable facility to rain. Some one has aptly called 
it a weeping sky. Surely its lachrymal nerves must be 
very excitable, for it rains often when there is no per- 
ceptible cause, and without the slightest preliminary 
emotions, to the great discomfort of unsuspecting trav- 
elers. 

Tobacco is used with greater moderation than in this 
country. Very few chew it. In Scotland and Ireland 
people snuff most immoderately. I saw a man take a 
'pinch while sitting at the Communion table, and an 
eminent Scotch divine consulted his box on the pulpit 
during religious service. The box and pipe are used 
to stimulate social intercourse. Even among the 
better classes of Ireland they still pass around the pipe 
of peace. Sometimes 1 would meet a group conversing 
together, when some one would till his white clay pipe 
and pass it round, each one taking a whiff in his turn, I 
among the rest. I found that a few whirls taken in this 
manner would open the way for a frank, heartful con- 
versation about their more private and personal joys 



ENGLISH EXCLUWIVENEKK. 105 

and sorrows. In Scotland the box perforins the same social 
office. As Burns has it, 

" The luntin pipe and sneeshin mill 
Are handed round wi' right guid will." 

The FOnglish are proverbial for their exclusiveness. 
The Scotch and Irish, on the contrary, are very accessi- 
ble and sociable. I met with pleasing exceptions, but 
such are not very numerous. They are non-conductors 
for the interchange of social sympathies. You can ride 
with them in the same car for a whole day as you would 
with so many Egyptian mummies, whose organs of 
speech had been palsied by the hand of death for 2,000 
years. No earthly use to try them. Their social exelu- 
siveness is impregnable. Occasionally you will meet 
one around whom flows a sort of mysterious dread-in- 
spiring atmosphere, that makes you feel uncomfortable 
in his presence, and breathe more easily as soon as you 
get out of it. In walking through the streets of 
Windsor, I was repeatedly reminded of the characters 
in Shakespeare's " Merry Wives of Windsor." I met 
with Fa 11 staffs that seemed to correspond precisely with 
the original "Sir John" — bundles of lustful self-indul- 
gence, bloated, blubbering beer sponges, whom their merry 
friends of the other sex might easily have rolled into 
the river. Such characters grow indigenous all over 
England. 

Great Britain, on the whole, seems to be a happily- 
governed country, Ireland always excepted. The diffi- 
culty with all good governments is to keep the golden 
mean, governing neither too little nor too much, for one 
is just as bad as the other. Governing power is the 
ballast of the ship of State; where there is too much 



106 POPULAR LIBERTY IN ENGLAND. 

there can be no healthy progress; where there is too 
little the ship is in danger of being dashed to pieces, to 
the destruction of its crew. 

It has become fashionable for Americans to speak of 
all European powers as being solely upheld by bayonets. 
Whatever may be the condition of others, it is certainly 
not true of England. Her subjects do not need bayo- 
nets, and they would be great fools to provoke them. 
Why, these Englishmen discuss their rights as freemen, 
and denounce oppression in their parks and parlors, 
publicly and privately, in a truly democratic style. If 
Parliament encroaches upon their rights, it is soon 
driven to a penitent retreat by meetings and memorials, 
which it is wise enough to respect. The press is un- 
trammelled. Their periodicals abound with talent and 
critical acumen. They dissect the actions of public men 
with unsparing rigor, and hold them up to publie 
execration or favor. The rights of suffrage are of course 
somewhat limited. Only those possessing a certain 
amount of property can vote, but this is so small that 
comparatively few are excluded. 

The most discreditable feature of the British Gov- 
ernment, most unworthy of so great a nation, is that 
which imposes the support of the established Church 
upon Dissenters. It is little in keeping with her pro- 
fessed zeal for freedom of conscience at home and abroad. 
England has perpetrated enough religious coercions and 
cruelties, to furnish the whole world with practical illus- 
trations of their enormity and folly. Though she has 
long since abandoned the policy of Henry VIII, she 
still retains a vestige of the old stigma, at which coming 
ages will point the finger of abhorrence and scorn. 



CHAPTER VII 



OSTEND. A CITY ON STILTS. DAMMING BACK THE 

SEA. A SUNDAY IN AMSTERDAM. A CLEANLY 

VILLAGE. A HOLLAND FARM HOUSE. 

DUESRELDORF. ELBERFELD AND 

THE WUPPERTHAL. COLOGNE. 



" To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies." 

In a crazy craft we sailed one night from Dover to 
Ostend. Indeed all these steamers then plying across 
the British Channel were most dismal affairs. On a 
hard nncnshioned bench I spent a dreary night. On it 
I lay through long hours, covered with my cloak, sea- 
sick, getting brief snatches of dreamy sleep. Early 
dawn brought us into the harbor of Ostend ; brought 
me for the first time to set foot on the continent of 
Europe. It was the end of May. The fresh breath of 
a dewy morning and the singing of birds soon made me 
forget the trials of the night. The Ostenders were busy 
scrubbing and sweeping about their front doors. As 
we walked from the wharf to the hotel, long lines of 
women, all dressed in black, came out of the different 
streets, all going in the same direction. I must know 
whither this stream tends, and soon join these sombre- 
looking people. I watch their conduct. Scarcely a 
word of conversation do I hear. A solemn, silent 
business these people are after. As I had expected, they 
led me to a church, a large plain edifice. I stood me near 

.107 






108 AT EARLY MASS IN OSTEND. 

the door and watched this crowd coming to their early 

devotions on a week-day morning. All dipped their 
finger into the basin of "sacred water" at the door, and 
crossed t hemsel ves. Aside the door in the corner, w;is 
a pile of rush-bottomed chairs. Each bore her seat with 
her and devoutly sat on or knelt before it. Others still 
continued to come. On the altar were lofty pyramidsof 
(lowers, and smaller stalks lifted their fragrant tops 
above the officiating pridst. It is the custom in all 
lands thus todress Catholic churches with flowers during 
the month of May. In strange contrast were these 
gaudy flowers with the gravely-dressed worshipers. 
They were nearly all women; and all the women dressed 
in black cloak and hood, hood instead of bonnet. Faces, 
so pale and serious, bearing the marks of fasting, stuck 
away back in this odd-looking head-gear. Seen from 
the door, one could not tell them from a congregation of 
monks, in cowl and cassock. With soft tread they con- 
tinue to crowd through the door, till aisles and seats are 
packed. No whisper is heard, save the faint muttering 
of a praying one near von. 

They leave the church as they enter it; nottogether, 
but one by one, as each gets through with praying. 
There is no common ending of the service. After the 
priest is through with the Mass, many stay to pray still 
longer. Hence their not leaving all at one time. 'This 
was the first church I entered on the continent, about I 
o'clock of a May morning, upon the coast of the northern 
ocean. Besides this I saw little in Ostend to interest 
me. It lies very low and very Hat, between the sea and 
the harbor, almost enclosed by water. Ii is surrounded 
by ramparts and broad ditches — a mighty fortress, around 



THE NETHERLANDS. 109 

which the armies of Europe have done ferocious work 
in their time. 

Holland is a country of a most tiresome scenery, 
entirely lacking- the elements of the romantic and pic- 
turesque. One square mile will give you a perfed 
sample of the whole country, for all has been cast in the 
same mould. It has neither upland nor lowland, hut 
one continuous boggy-flat. The land is seldom (it for 
anything' but grazing. Dutch dairy farms have a world- 
wide reputation, and have made their country the home 
of butter and cheese. 

Holland still retains her ominous, ancient cognomen, 
which may be prophetic of her being finally left nether- 
most. Her country is a net- work of navigable canals 
around every farm and field, brimful of water, which 
perforin the double service of fences and drainage. The 
streets of her two principal cities, Rotterdam and Am- 
sterdam, are traversed by large trading vessels and, like 
the ocean, have become the highways of the world. All 
their principal streets are canals crossed with boats or 
draw-bridges. This watery country has been in a state 
of siege for more than twelve centuries. Now the dread 
enemy rolling his restless waves over her territories, 
sweeping away towns and villages, sometimes leaving a 
hundred thousand human beings on the inundated field 
of battle. Then by drainage and walls the water is 
driven back, but only to rush over the land with more 
terrific fury at some future time. Dort stands on an 
island formed by a terrific inundation in 1421, caused 
by the rising of the Rhine. Seventy-two villages and 
100,000 human beings were destroyed by the waxes. It 
is said the country about Dort is literally choked with 






110 Holland's battle with the ocean. 

water, and constant fears are entertained lest the Rhine 
might rise a few inches, break the hanks, and overwhelm 
it with a flood. Indeed the safety of Holland depends 
entirely upon her dams. Along- the Rhine and the sea 
coast, massive dykes or ramparts of earth and stone, are 
raised to keep the water out. Sometimes storms 
cause the tide to rise far above the ordinary high water 
mark. At, such times sentinels are posted at differ- 
ent places of danger, and multitudes hasten from 
the towns and country to save their firesides and 
houses. As you walk along these dykes at some places, 
you hear the roar of the sea outside, 16* and 20 feet 
higher than your head. Ships sail in the canals above 
the adjoining fields, and we sailed up the Rhine, high 
above the farms and dwellings that lay along its 
banks. In other countries, the Creator has set bounds 
to the sea, but here he has seen fit to leave it to the 
agency of man. By cutting these dykes, in a few hours 
a territory of thirty miles around Amsterdam can be re- 
el uced to total submersion. The Rhine, like many 
other rivers liable to freaks of inundation, raises its bed 
with gradual deposits. This requires the elevation of its 
artificial banks in Holland. Already it flows above the 
surrounding country in some places, and to raise its 
banks with its bed for a long series of years, would be 
impossible. I have not the least doubt that before 
many centuries, Holland must furnish the Rhine with a 
new channel to the sea, or be inevitably submerged by 
another deluge. 

Let us to Amsterdam. How, it does not matter for 
our present purpose. The vast level country intervening, 
with its quaint old cities, built and preserved by the 



THE CANALS AND DAMS OF ENGLAND. Ill 

blood of heroes and martyrs, must remain undescribed 
here. Only let me say that this Netherland country is 
really the nether-most country in Europe. So low, that 
the waters of the continent seem to stream hither ; so 
level, that these waters refuse to leave it, save as they are 
drained out by artificial means. The whole country is 
covered with a net-work of canals, used to drain and 
fence the fields and transport the produce. Nine thou- 
sand wind-mills are employed in Holland to pump the 
water from the low places into the higher, until it can be 
made to run into the sea. Singular structures they are, 
like great furnace stacks with vast upright wheels hung 
to their sides, revolving by the touch of every breeze. 
The people go from their barns to the fields in boats, 
and in boats they bring their crops home. As the names 
of many German towns terminate in heim, expressive of 
the warm and genial home feeling of the German Land; 
so in the Netherlands the names of not a few towns end 
in dam, Amsterdam and Rotterdam, expressive of the 
need of resisting the ubiquitous encroachments of water. 
In Amsterdam as in Venice, many streets are canals, 
forming the city into ninety-five islands. These canals 
are crossed by two hundred and ninety bridges. The 
streets are traversed by the trading vessels of the world. 
The city is literally water-lodged. All the houses — the 
largest and oldest structures in the city some hundreds of 
years old, are built on the sand. Many a time have the 
winds blown over them, and the rains descended, and 
yet they have not fallen. The heavens above and the 
earth beneath are brimful of water. Poles or loos from 
50 to 75 feet in length are driven into the earth, which 
form the foundation of all the buildings. Some blocks 



112 CITIES ON STILTS. 

are five and six stories high. But for the poles, and these 
250,000 Anisterdamers would sink into mud and mire 
irretrievably. These live, labor, sleep, wake, walk and 
worship on poles. When Erasmus visited Amster- 
dam he wrote to a "friend that he had reached a city, 
whose inhabitants, " like crows, lived on tree-tops." In 
Holland the laws of nature are reversed. The sea is 
higher than the land. At high tide the lowest land is 
30 feet below the water's surface. The keels of the 
ships plow above the chimney-tops; the croaking frog 
looks down from his lofty ramparts upon the chattering 
swallows on the house tops. 

Vast walls are built along the sea-shore to dam back 
its wild waves. Ordinarily, the Creator sets bounds to 
the sea, but here He leaves it to the agency of man. To 
"dam up the Nile with bulrushes," is an admitted im- 
possibility, but the Hollanders dam up the mighty 
Ocean for miles with reeds and straw wisps, woven into 
mats, and mixed with earth. During high storms 
watchmen are kept on the walls. W hen the waves start 
a leak, the church-bells of the neighboring villages 
sound the alarm — the men rush to the sea-side with 
spades and baskets to fill up the leak, and the women and 
children hasten to church to pray for God's merciful pro- 
tection. Should the break become large, all the country 
round about for scores of miles may be covered with 
water before sunset, and the people buried beneath the 
waves of the sea. 

A large class of the poorer people of Amsterdam live 
upon the canals. A man marries. He and his wife 
by hard work, can buy a boat that will carry from one 
to three tons. The boat costs less than a house; it 



HOME LIFE ON THE WATER. 113 

becomes their home. They keep their hogs, ducks and 
other animals the same as the people on land. "Their 
cabin displays the same neatness as the parlors of their 
countrymen on shore. The women employ themselves 
in all the domestic offices, and are assiduous in embel- 
lishing their little sitting-rooms with the labors of the 
needle. Many of them have little gardens of tulips, 
hyacinths, anemones and various other flowers. These 
vessels are long and narrow, suitable to the canals and 
sluices of the town." Here their children are born, 
nursed and raised. Besides attending- to the cooking:, 
mending, scrubbing and the nursing of children, the wife 
often helps to steer the boat, while the husband, with a 
rope over his shoulder, pulls it along the canal when 
the wind is contrary. By and by the children grow up 
and marry. One inherits the old boat, and the parents 
buy a larger one, perhaps a trading vessel, and acquire a 
fortune for an easy old age. 

In Holland, as for centuries past, land and water 
still contend for the supremacy. It is by no means cer- 
tain which will finally be victorious. Every storm on 
the ocean, and every freshet of the Rhine, is a mighty 
effort of nature to batter down the walls that shield the 
country against a deluge. Through ages of toil have 
the Hollanders wrung their fair meadows from the sea. 

" How did they rivet with gigantic piles 
Through the centre their new catched miles, 
And to stake a struggling country bound, 
Where barking waves still bait the forced ground. 
Building their watery Babel far more high 
To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky, 

A daily deluge over them does boil ; 
The earth and water play at level coil. 
The fish ol'ttimcs the burgher disposess'd, 
And sat, not as a meat, but as a guest. 

8 



114 SUNDAY IN AMSTERDAM. 

They always ply the pump, ami never think 
They can be safe, but at the rate they sink ; 
They live as if they had been run aground, 
And when they die are oast away and drown'd, 

A land that rides at anchor, and is moor'd, 
In which they do not live, but go aboard." 

An Amsterdam Sunday belongs but half to God. 
Its 25,000 Jews keep Saturday as their day of rest, and 
trade with all their might on Sunday. One street was 
lined with peddlars, yelling hideously to the passing 
crowd in praise of their wares. Some of the streets 
abounded with mud and garbage. Half of the shops 
and stores were open. Dirty boys plied their brushes 
briskly in polishing shoes. Amid the passing worldly 
throng, bent on business or pleasure, graver, well- 
dressed people wended their way towards their re- 
spective places of worship. 

In the morning I worshipped in the Oude Kerk 
(old church), a very large and massive building; ancient 
and very plain. Indeed all the Reformed churches 
here are without any ornament — the extreme of plain- 
ness. This old church has a leaning tower. The vast 
edifice was filled with a devout congregation. The 
pews had very high backs. The pew-doors were locked 
— locked after the people were seated, so that no one 
could leave till the service was ended. Above the lofty 
narrow pulpit hung a prodigious sounding board. A 
sleek-looking dominie, the very picture of good health 
and good nature, preached the sermon on " There is none 
other name under heaven given among men, whereby 
we must be saved." Acts iv. 12. The manner of the 
preacher was very pleasant, and his sermon was good, as 
far as I understood it, which was not much. The 



AT CHURCH IN AMSTERDAM. 115 

Holland tongue has just enough of German, French and 
English in its composition to make it seem intelligible 
when it is not. By hard work a German can get along 
with a Hollander if he meets him halfways. During 
the sermon the preacher stopped twice in his discourse, 
and quietly took his seat, while the congregation sang a 
hymn. Before the sermon two hymns were sung. A 
mighty organ, over a hundred years old, led the singing. 
Instead of a choir a clerk raised the tune. The whole 
congregation sang with a will, and made the tall arches 
ring with a grand song of praise. All the people had 
hymn books, and all seemed to use them. The minister 
wore a robe with a ruff around his neck, during the 
service. A large number of the male portion of the 
congregation kept their hats on, save during the prayers, 
when they all uncovered their heads. During the ser- 
vices three collections were at different times taken. 
And their collectors are men of energy, as I can testify 
from experience. After the first collection I was slow 
to understand what the second and third application for 
charity meant, but he held on to me till he made me 
comprehend him. In all the churches collections are 
every Sunday held for the support of the poor. The 
deacons go from pew to pew, with a little bag attached 
to the end of a stick, " like a landing net," with a small 
bell to it. Into this bag every one drops a gift ac- 
cording to his means. It is the old-fashioned "Klingel 
Sack," (jingling bag) that used to be in vogue in our 
German churches, and still is used in some. 

In this way the Almshouses and Orphan Asylums, 
for which this city has become famous, are supported. 
It has twenty-three of these charitable institutions. 



116 THE FATHERLESS IN AMSTERDAM. 

When Louis XIV threatened to destroy the city, 
Charles II said: "I am of opinion that Providence will 
preserve Amsterdam, if it were only for the great charity 
its people have for the poor." 

Its orphans are all known in the streets by their 
dress. Some wear black and red jackets; some wear 
black with a white band round the head; some are 
dressed in black with a red and white band around the 
arm, and a number on it. Woe to the man who admits 
or entices any of these fatherless of Amsterdam into a 
play or gin-house. The gentle hand of Christian laws 
shields them against the cruelties of temptation. 

In the afternoon I attended services in the Nieuwe 
Kerk (new church), so-called, though built nearly five 
hundred years ago. It is one of the finest churches in 
Holland, very large and very plain. The ponderous 
sounding-board over the pulpit helps the preacher's 
voice to fill its vast dimensions. The congregation was 
very small, as the most afternoon congregations are 
on the continent. 

In some countries people must sit on door sills, or 
thrust their heads out the window to see the fashions on 
the street. Passing along the streets of Holland cities, 
one often sees a little white hand behind a half-opened 
shutter, holding a small mirror, sometimes two, to im- 
prove the reflection. In the looking glass the fair lady, 
and those not so fair, can see the bonnets and costly 
dresses of their sisters passing by, without being seen by 
them. The wealthy Hollanders believe in enjoying the 
comforts of life. Around Amsterdam and other cities 
are numerous villas, where families spend their summer 
afternoons. These consist of a picturesque cottage, or 



HOLLAND CLEANLINESS. 117 

arbor, nestled among a profusion of trees, vines and 
flowers. There the men smoke their pipes, sip their 
beer or coffee, the old ladies knit, and the younger ones 
sing, romp and criticise the passers by. Over the gate- 
way of these gardens one sometimes finds an inscription, 
a sort of a motto expressive of the tastes of the owner. 
Thus one has : " Wei te vreede" (Well contented). An- 
other: " Mijn Inst en leven" (My pleasure and life). 
"Vriendschap en geselshap" (Friendship and socia- 
bility). "Het vermaak is in't hovenieren" (There is 
pleasure in gardening). One even has: "De vleesch 
potten van Egypte" (The flesh-pots of Egypt). 

The Hollanders are famous for their cleanliness, and 
that, as our readers know, is allied to godliness. Water 
and mud abound. The two wage uncompromising war- 
fare with each other, under the leadership of diligent 
women. They seem to be scrubbing every day, and 
indeed during the greater part of the day. In the 
morning it is unsafe to walk the streets of a Holland 
town with polished boots and clean linens. When least 
expected, an unseen scrubber will dash a pail of water 
against a second-story window overhead, and favor you 
with a shower. The village of Broeck, a few miles 
from Amsterdam, excels all other towns in Holland, 
perhaps in the world, in this respect. Mostly comp< >sed 
of plain one-story cottages, one would little suspect that 
any of them are inhabited by families of wealth and 
rank. Strolling through the silent streets, I noticed 
wooden shoes, sometimes three or four pairs, standing 
before the house-doors; the shoes of visitors who left 
them outside so as not to soil the clean floors of their 
neighbors. The pavements were literally worn by 



118 THE VILLAGE OF BBOECK. 

scrubbing. The wooden door-steps were as pure as the 
milk-pails; such immaculate pails with shining brass- 
hoops around them — hung on the garden-fence; the 
fence was washed white as winter-snow. The streets are 
too narrow and too clean for wagons to pass through 
them. Indeed, I was told that a board at the end of the 
village proclaimed a law requiring riders to dismount at 
the end of the town, and lead their horses through the 
streets at a slow walk, and which warns strangers not to 
smoke on the streets without stoppers or lids on their 
pipes, so as not to spill the ashes on the pavements. But 
for the scrubbers the streets would look quite forsaken. 
The front shutters, front rooms indeed, are said to be 
never opened, save when there is a wedding or funeral 
in the family. At no other time can one gain admission. 
Even the Emperor of Russia, on a visit, was refused 
this privilege. 

In a restaurant I got a glimpse of the inside of a 
cottage. The floor was nicely sanded, streaked with all 
manner of figures. The milk, Dutch cheese and white 
bread I still remember with pleasure. Along with the 
pipe and tobacco laid aside of my plate, was a bowl in 
which carefully to place the ashes. No carpets, no 
table-cloth, no dust or dirt of any kind, a shrine of 
domestic purity; of moral purity, too, I dare say. For 
the sweet, happy face of the landlady, set in her little white 
cap, told me that this must be the abode of soul cleanli- 
ness. "What is holiness?" a little Sunday School 
scholar was once asked by a teacher. "To have the 
inside clean," was her answer. There is a certain con- 
nection between the scrubbing and the religion of the 
Hollanders. 



A DUTCH DAIRY. 119 

On my return from Broeck I had the privilege of 
seeing a Dutch dairy. By the purchase of a few glasses 
of milk, at a large farm house, I procured admit- 
tance. It is rather out of taste to take the reader through 
a stable, but I can not get him into the house without it, 
for the front doors are always locked, and the back doors 
lead through this apartment. The building was a large 
square brick edifice, with a tiled semi-octagonal roof. 
The cow stable extended around three sides, and the 
fourth was occupied as the dwelling. The cows were 
placed around the outside wall in spacious stalls painted 
red and green. Where these stood, under their feet, 
were boards as clean as the pails in which they were 
milked, and under their bodies, sloping pavements cov- 
ered with white sand, painted in mosaic. Pulleys were 
fixed to the ceiling, over which cords were drawn, with a 
weight at one end, and the other fastened to their tails to 
prevent them from being polluted by dipping into the 
gutter behind. This gutter is depressed below the pave- 
ment so as to keep their beds perfectly dry and clean. 
Adjoining this was a broad pavement with a matted 
carpet covering its middle passage, and this ended in a 
long room, in which was a bed, chairs and dairy furni- 
ture. I could scarcely believe that these apartments 
had ever been occupied by cattle. I must say that they 
really looked cleaner than their attendants. 

The Dutch language sounds like a earricature of the 
German. Many of its words begin in the German, end 
in the English, and are joined by the little link of a 
Frenchified pronunciation. And how distressingly 1111- 
euphoneous ! Now, with pectoral emphasis, heaving 
out gutterals, then pattering off from the lip a shower 



120 THE HOLLAND LANGUAGE. 

of half uttered labials with andistinguishable velocity. 
It often has groups of consecutive consonants through 
which the unskilled tongue of a novice is inexpres- 
sibly tortured. A German by hard work, may get 
along with a Dutchman, if he can meet him half way, 
but he will be hard put to. He will just understand 
enough to discern the mournful vestiges of his dismem- 
bered tongue beneath the bog of adulteration to which 
this unnatural amalgamation has subjected it. 

It is said that there are 25,000 Jews in Amsterdam. 
They are confined to a particular part of the city where 
their mammon-morality has free scope. On Sabbath 
their streets are made hideous by the howlings of ven- 
ders. The general morality, of Amsterdam is very 
creditable for a European atmosphere. There are few 
cities in the world that take better care of their poor. 

Coming up the Rhine from Arnheim on a small 
steamer, I sought comfort and rest on a wooden bench 
in the bleak half-lighted saloon. At midnight I was 
startled by the shout of " Duesseldorf," and hurried 
ashore with scarcely time enough to get rightly awake. 
Left on the wharf alone, a total stranger, I groped my 
way into the town through the dark streets, vainly trying 
to read the names of streets and hotels. How lonely and 
forsaken one feels at such a place and time. After 
sitting awhile on a door-step, waiting for the coming of 
the morning, I heard the heavy tramp of a policemen in 
the distance, and at once hailed him. With his help I 
found a hotel and a comfortable bed. My brief sojourn 
here left me no time to do justice to the celebrated Art 
Gallery of this city. 

About twenty-five miles west from this is Elberfeld, 



ELBERFELD. . 121 

in the Wupperthal. After traveling for a week over the 
monotonous flat country of Belgium and Holland, it is a 
source of relief to turn the weary eye upon the romantic 
scenery of this beautiful valley of Wupperthal. Here 
nature has scooped a valley out of the mountain, perhaps 
ten miles in diameter, with a high knoll in the centre, 
surmounted with a tower, which commands a view 
of the whole. On this tower I spent an evening. 
Nature was just preparing for repose, by folding around 
it the pensive draperary of twilight. The busy valley 
was spread out below like a world in miniature. At the 
two extremes the mountain left a narrow pass for the 
Wupper to enter and escape, which winds like a silver 
thread through its fertile meadows, turning many a 
busy mill, as it ripples cheerily along. On both sides 
the mountains form an amphitheatre, rescued from bar- 
renness by German industry and thrift. Their neat 
dwellings have a home-like appearance, and their wav- 
ing grain and grass fields promise a rich reward for their 
labor. At my feet lay scattered the busy town of El- 
berfeld. Joined to the town of Barman, in the same 
valley, it forms a continuous street five miles in length. 
The whole presents a vivid picture not of affluence and 
luxury, but of a frugal, competent prosperity. Imme- 
diately around the town were spread out terraces of 
flower beds, arrayed in their loveliest colors. Here 
from this eminence I watched the weary farmer slowly 
plodding his homeward way; and the tired laborer, his 
days work over, with a contented mien, approaching his 
humble cottage, where his little ones ran to his embrace 
and implored a kiss. I watched, too, the coy maiden 
and bashful lover strolling along these shady hill-side 



122 THE WUPPERTHAL. 

bowers in the calm and cool of evening, jovially weaving 

a cord of love. The chimneys sent up curling images 

of smoke, while the vesper bells chimed their evening 

praise. 

" As this summer's day was closing 

On that lofty tower I stood, * 

And the world put on the darkness 

Like the weeds of widowhood. 

At my feet the town was lying, 
From its chimneys here and there, 
Wreaths of snow-white smoke ascending 
Vanished ghost-like in the air" 

The towns in the Wupperthal are celebrated for 

their cotton and silk manufactories. And their inhabi- 
tants are distinguished for their piety and thrift. The 
German Reformed Church has long been in a flourish- 
ing condition here. The celebrated Krummacher was 
pastor in Elberfeld when he was called to the Pro- 
fessorship in the Theological Seminary at Mercersburg, 
Pa. The Church in the United States has received valuable 
accessions from this district. Nature and grace have 
made it a valley to which the memory of the visitor will 
ever cling with lingering fondness. Europe has much 
to interest a serious student of history. Every town is 
associated with some historical event. Yesterday I 
passed by near the spot where tradition says the cross 
appeared to Constantine, with the inscription ' with this 
sign conquer/ also by the place where Csesar crossed 
the Rhine over a bridge of his own construction, against 
Secambre, nearly twenty centuries ago. 

The Rhine is the most interesting river in the world. 
"As it flows down from the distant ridges of the Alps 
through fertile regions into the sea, so it comes down 



THE RrVER RHINE. L23 

from remote antiquity, associated in every age with mo- 
mentous events in the history of neighboring nations." 
Along its banks repose the bones of Emperors, and on 
its crags are the crumbling remains of their castles. 
Each of its mountain peaks has an unwritten history, 
dating back to remote elemental wars in nature. Its 
ruins have descended from the days of Rivalry and 
Chivalry; its fortresses show the power and weakness of 
Love and Hate. The ruins and picturesque scenery of 
the Rhine are principally between Bonn and Mayence. 
I passed along here in the month of June, when the 
mountains were covered with spring verdure and busy 
vine-dressers. To appreciate the scenery it must be 
seen. It would be interesting to know how the Rhine 
could ever work a channel through such barriers. Some- 
times the mountains recede from the river and form a 
large fertile basin, then they close up again and form a 
long vista at the end of which they seem to meet, but 
when you get there you find that the river worms 
and winds its course in a zigzag style around tower- 
ing precipices. In some places the mountains form 
a succession of defiles into large valleys that recede 
into the country, and finally terminate on the top of an- 
other mountain. And then almost every crag is crowned 
with a ruin, whose mossy, mouldering walls form a 
striking contrast to the sprightly verdure of the sur- 
rounding landscape, while far below, just where the 
feudal lords lived and fought on its banks, 

" The river nobly foams and flows, 
The charm of this enchanted ground, 
And all its thousand turns disclose 
Some fresher beauty varying round" 



124 THE VINEYARDS ON THE RHINE. 

The hills on the east bank of the Rhine are mostly cov- 
ered with vineyards. These are builtby of a succession of 
walls forming terraces. The hills in many places are so 
steep that the breadth of the terraces is little more than the 
height of the walls. Many of them are bare rocks cov- 
ered with soil which the vintagers carried there on their 
shoulders, and every particle of manure must be borne 
up in this way. Passing along here you can see men 
and women clambering up fearful precipices with 
heavy burdens on their backs, sometimes hanging seem- 
ingly from projecting rocks one thousand feet aboveyou. 
A single shower will often sweep their precarious pos- 
sessions into the Rhine, which years of patient toil had 
acquired. These pendent terraces are their little all — 
when these are gone they are poor indeed. 

A few miles above Bonn the hills of the Rhine 
commence, with a group called the Siebengebirge. The 
most interesting of these is the Drachenfels, which I 
awkwardly ascended on the back of a donkey — the first 
donkey ride in my tourist experience. The Cave of the 
Dragon is still shown, by which the horned hero of the 
Niebelungen Lied is said to have been slain. The 
ruins on the summit were once the abode of a warlike 
race now extinct. It commands a view down the Rhine 
beyond Cologne, twenty miles distant. Higher up is 
Hammerstein Castle, the refuge of Henry IV of 
Germany, and further on the Castle of Marksburg, 
where he was imprisoned. A singular fatality attended 
this unfortunate monarch, which throws a veil of un- 
certainty over his subsequent history and his death. I 
saw a large iron coffin in the Cathedral of Chester, in 
England, which tradition says contains his remains, and 



THE RUINS OP THE RHINE. 125 

where it is said he died as a hermit. Ehrenbreistein is 
no longer a ruin. It has been repaired by Prussia and 
made the strongest fortification on the Rhine. Opposite 
this is Coblentz, where the grandsons of Charlemagne 
met in 743 to divide the Roman empire. Above 
Coblentz two castles crown the brow of a hill, called the 
twin castles of Sternberg and Liebenstein. The legend 
says their owners were two brothers who happened to 
fall in love with the same fair maiden, and settled their 
rivalry with the sword, which terminated in their death. 
Every ruin has its legend, a species of literature in 
which the middle ages were prolific. The castles still 
show the energies of their builders, and the insecurity 
of property and life in their massive, mouldering walls. 
Every village must have its wall of protection, and a 
fortress on a neighboring hill from which to repel in- 
vading foes. All these are monuments of the turbu- 
lence, perfidy and social chaos of feudal times, in which, 
too, we gratefully discern the germs of principles to 
which Freedom and Civilization are immeasurably in- 
debted. 

The Germans regard the Rhine with a sort of re- 
ligious reverence. It is to them almost what the Nile is 
to the Egyptians. It was the boundary of the old 
Roman Empire, and is now the burden of a hundred 
songs, which have floated down on the stream of an 
eventful Past, gradually incorporating in themselves the 
sympathies and hopes of a great people. These form 
their stirring Volkslieder, which, like the Marseillaise 
Hymn with the French, inspires them with an in- 
trepidity and patriotism which fear neither foe nor 
defeat. At Caub, a village between Coblentz and 



126 THE MOUBE-THURM. 

Bingen, the place is still pointed out where Blucher's 
army crossed the Rhine, in the beginning of January, 
1814, on their return from the battle-field where they 
had delivered the Netherlands from the dominion of its 
foes. As they reached the top of the hill, the Rhine 
suddenly burst upon their view, when they fell on 
their knees and shouted with a torrent of grateful en- 
thusiasm, in the stirring poetry of Claudius — 

"Am Rhine! am Rhine! da waiehsen nnsere Retten " 

As one regiment after another reached this lofty summit, 
they knelt alike and shouted still "Am Rhine!" and so 
from morn till night, the rocks and ruirs on its banks 
were vocal with exulting joy, and reverberated with the 
rolling shouts "Am Rhine! am Rhine!" 

Near Bingen is an old tower called the Mouse 
Thurm. When I was a boy this legend was a great 
favorite among the little members of our household. 
And many a time did our father gather around him an 
evening group to tell the story and moral of the Mouse 
Thurm at Bingen. It runs as follows: During the 
middle ages, when it was still customary for bishops to 
provide for the temporal wants of their flock, it hap- 
pened that the grain through this country was destroyed 
by rain. Bishop Hatto had his granaries well filled, 
and was appealed to by the multitude for bread. He 
invited them into his barn to get provisions, but when 
they were in he barred the doors, and burnt it to the 
ground in order to get rid of their entreaties. Soon a 
horde of rata consumed his remaining grain, and then 
assailed his person. He fled to his tower in the Rhine, 
and barred the doors and windows. But when his head 



A BIRHOP IN TROUBLE. 127 

pressed his pillow, a scream came from beneath it, and 
lo! rats were above, beneath and around him. 

" Down on his knees the bishop fell 

And faster and faster his beads did he tell, 

As Wilder and louder drawing near 

The saw of their teeth without he could hear. 

" And in at the windows and in at the door, 

And through the walls by thousands they pour; 

And down through the ceiling, and up through the floor, 

From the right and the left, from behind and before, 

Prom within and without, from above and below, 

And all at once to the bishop they go. 

They have whetted their teeth against the stones, 
And now they pick the bishop's bones, 
They gnawed the flesh from every limb, 
For they were sent to do judgment on him." 

Cologne is one of the principal historical cities of 
Europe, which has successively been the theatre of im- 
portant historical events. Its chief ornament at present 
is the Cathedral, (Domkirche) begun in 1248 and still 
in process of completion. Its original architect is sup- 
posed to have been Albertus Magnus, a monk in the 
convent of Cologne. The progress of its construction 
was arrested shortly before the Reformation, and during 
the devastations of the Thirty Year's War, the original 
plan was lost, which made the consummation of the en- 
terprise impossible. In the beginning of the present 
century the proprietor of the Hotel " Zur Trail be" in 
Darmstadt, discovered among the rubbish in his garret a 
lot of sketches and drawings which, though worthless as 
he thought, he handed to an architect, who immediately 
discovered in them the original design of the Domkirche. 
At that time the work was resumed and gradually car- 
ried forward ever since. What an exhibition of genius 
to create such a conception! It looks like a mammoth 



128 THE CATHEDRAL OP COLOGNE. 

plant, suddenly petrified during the progress of growth. 
It is a vast inorganic organism, with an endless diversity 
of parte, all joined in a common unity. The mind is 
bewildered in contemplating the labyrinth of its pro- 
portions. The longer you study it, the darker and 
more puzzling the riddle which it proclaims. You see 
that it bodies forth ideas, grand, noble and heaven- 
aspiring, that here a great soul struggled to give expres- 
sion to great truths, but to disentangle the web, to in- 
terpret the dream, requires one who himself could weave 
the web, or dream the dream. The king of Prussia is 
an energetic patron of the Dombau enterprise, to which 
he appropriates a liberal annual donation. An associa- 
tion has also been established, extending over the whole 
of Europe, called the Dombau Verein, to carry the 
work towards completion, the expenses of which are 
still estimated at upwards of $3,500,000. 

The completion of the Cathedral of Cologne will l>e 
of great importance to Christian Europe. It originated 
during the earlier period of Germanic Unity, indeed 
was a partial result of it, and would therefore revive 
tendencies to greater unity at least in Germanic Europe, 
and perpetuate old sympathies and recollections. Its 
commencement dates from the culminating period of the 
Crusades, from whose characteristic enthusiasm it re- 
ceived its first impulses. Its completion would be cal- 
culated to revive the heroic self-denial for God and lle- 
ligion, which distinguished those memorable times. It 
was at a period when Midiaeval Poetry and the fine 
Arte had reached their meridian. It is indeed the ef- 
florescence of Midiaeval Art, of whose creative strength it 
would be a fitting monument when finished, which 



RELICS IN THE CATHEDRAL OF COLOGNE. 129 

might kindle and stimulate a taste for the Beautiful 
through coming ages. Cologne is further celebrated for 
its rare treasures and relics. Back of the high altar in 
the Cathedral is a small chapel containing the shrine of 
the Magi, called the three Kings of Cologne, who came 
from the East with presents for the infant Saviour. 
Their bones were brought from Milan by the Emperor 
Frederick Barbarossa, and presented to the Archbishop 
of Cologne, who had accompanied him in the capture of 
that city. Their skulls are exhibited, inscribed with 
their names, Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazer, and 
along with these many jewels and treasures said to be 
worth $1,200,000. The correctness of this story is 
supported by such an appalling pile of testimony, 
written and traditional, wherein assertion predominates 
so vastly over proof, that I must be content to remain 
in partial ignorance on this point. 

The famous Crucifixion of Peter by Rubens, in a 
church dedicated to that Saint, lias been much praised. 
The Martyr is represented as being crucified with his 
head downward, according to an old tradition, which to 
my mind is supported by questionable authority. The 
church of St. Ursula and of the 11,000 virgins, is a vast 
store-house of relics. St. Ursula is said to have been a 
pious Princess of Britain, wno lived in the third century. 
Through her self-denying zeal 11,000 virgins were con- 
verted to Christianity, whom she accompanied to 
Rome to receive the Sacrament of Baptism. On their 
return they were murdered by the barbarian Huns at 
Cologne, because they refused to break their vows of 
chastity. Their remains were miraculously discovered 
in the fifth century by the Archbishop of Cologne, and 
9 



130 THE CITY OF BONN. 

a church built on the spot where they were found. 
Their bones are deposited under the pavement, and piled 
in large cases along the wall. In a separate apartment 
are the remains of Ursula, particles of our Saviour's 
crown of thorns, and a jug from the Marriage in Cana. 
To the minds of Catholics these ghastly piles must 
possess great value and power. My attendant seemed 
convinced of their identity, and waded through their 
explanation with an air of certainty that might convince 
even a skeptic in relics. 

Bonn, a town pleasantly situated on the banks of the 
Rhine, a short distance above Cologne, has become a 
famous seat of learning through its University. This was 
founded by the King of Prussia in 1818. Prince 
Albert was a student here. Niebuhr and A. W. 
Schlegel were among its distinguished Professors. I 
passed the fencing hall, where a number of the bloods 
were furiously practicing the art of wielding the sword, 
a branch of instruction which our American Colleges 
fortunately do not teach. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



BINGEN. FREILAUBERSHEIM. VILLAGE LIFE IN 
GERMANY. 



" I saw the Blue Rhine sweep along — 

I heard, or seemed to hear, 
The German songs we used to sing, 

In chorus sweet and clear ; 
And down the pleasant river, 

And up the slanting hill, 
The echoing chorus sounded 

Through the evening calm and still ; 
And her glad blue eyes were on me, 

As we passed with friendly talk, 
Down many a path beloved of yore, 

And well remembered walk, 
And her little hand lay lightly 

And confidingly in mine — 
But we'll meet no more at Bingen, 

Loved Bingen on the Rhine." 

On a certain spring morning of 1802, a small group 
stood on the wharf at Bingen on the Rhine. An elderly 
widow lady with her eldest son, and a few companions, 
accompanied a young man to the river. He was her 
youngest, a tender youth, just leaving for America. At 
that time America seemed much farther away than now, 
and but few people came hither. A flat boat was in 
waiting to take the youth and a few traveling comrades 
down the river to Amsterdam. They had bought it for 
this trip. Their chests were already on board. The 
widow and her sons lived in an inland village, ten or 
twelve miles from Bingen. Full many a time had their 

131 



132 A PARTING SCENE ON THE RHINE. 

youthful voices joined in merry songs and mirthful glee, 
as they loitered along the winding foot-paths of the vine- 
clad hills of the Rhine around Bingen. Now the moist 
eyes of the youth rest upon the charming scene for the 
last time. His brother and comrades fall upon his neck 
and kiss him. And the mother presses him to her 
warm heart, and covers his blushing face with kisses 
and tears. As the boat floated away the young men un- 
covered their heads, and with the mother, gave him the 
usual parting greeting of pious Germans: "Adieu, 
lieber Hannes, auf Wiedersehen" (Adieu, dear John, in 
hope of meeting again). Down the river floated the 
boat past the Binger-Loch (a whirl-pool) and the Maus- 
thurm (the ruins of an old tower), and when almost out 
of sight, the parting friends waved the right hand in 
final greeting, and with the left wiped away the tears 
still falling fast. Those on shore sadly returned to 
their village-home, and he on the boat, floated gently 
along the romantic banks of the Rhine, towards the new 
world in the far distant West, floated away too, from 
French tyranny, which had marked him as a soldier to 
fight against his German fatherland. The bullets of 
the French pickets on the banks of the river whizzed 
around his head as he floated down the grand old 
stream. His French rulers wished to force him to fight 
against his German brethren. "Give me exile or death, 
but fight them, I never will," he said. Between him 
and his mother and brother, it is the last parting. 

"They meet no more on Bingen, 
Loved Bingen on the Rhine." 

Again, it is a pleasing spring morning, a half a cen- 
tury later; the birds carol their merry songs in the 



ANOTHER PARTING SCENE IN AMERICA. 133 

gardens, around a peaceful American home in the coun- 
try. The youth of Bingen has reached the evening of 
life. His children and children's children are all 
around him; the whole family, save the mother and 
a son, both lately gone to their heavenly home. And 
now, though these are absent, he gathers his offspring 
around him on the fiftieth anniversary of his marriage. 
His pastor prays and commends them all to the keeping 
of Israel's God. Full many a pleasing dream has he 
had about the joys of his youth in the fatherland. And 
many a sweet story of those early days has he told his 
children for the hundredth time. On the following 
morning his youngest is to leave home on a long pil- 
grimage. Like the patriarch of old, when sending his 
son to his kindred in Mesopotamia, the venerable father 
charges his youngest born to visit 

" The vine-clad hills of Bingen, 
Fair Bingen on the Rhine." 

" My son, heed the words of thine aged father. I 
charge thee visit the scenes of my childhood. Search 
for my kindred and youthful comrades; greet them for 
me as we greeted when last we parted ; go with them to 
the village church wherein I was baptized and con- 
firmed ; renew the sad adieu at Bingen, fifty years ago, 
and greet them for me with a Wiedersehen, 

" Auf Wiedersehen im ewigen Vaterland." 
(We'll meet in the everlasting Fatherland). 

I had spent a day very pleasantly at the charming 
city of Coblenz. As my custom was, I stopped at one 
of the smaller inns, where the guests are admitted into 
the home circle of the innkeeper's family. At the few 



134 COBLENZ AND BINGEN. 

meals taken with them, we chatted familiarly about 
matters in Europe and America. For these people, as a 
rule, are far more intelligent than their class in our 
country. Among other things, I told them of my ex- 
pected visit to Freilaubersheim, in which they at once 
felt a romantic interest. And as I hade them adieu, 
they wished me a joyful visit to my unknown relatives. 

Early en a pleasant Saturday morning J lefl 
Coblenz with the steamer for Bingen. The dawn of 
that day had long been eagerly looked for. Soon after 
3 a. m., the sun already gilded the top of Ehrenbreit- 
stein, on the opposite side of the Rhine. The pleasant 
groves were vocal with the early songs of the birds. 
Some of these were as familiar to my ears as Old 
Hundred. The grandest part of the Rhine is between 
Coblenz and Bingen. My heart leaped for joy as the 
boat gracefully wound its way along the tortuous river. 

The bell of the steamer rings the signal as we ap- 
proach the landing place at Bingen. J press through 
the trunks, chests and people at the wharf, towards a 
two-horse hack, on whose side hangs a placard, telling 
us " 10 Silber Groschen nach Kreutznach." As my 
custom is, I ask for a seat aside of the postillion, where 
I can have a better view of the country, besides the 
benefit of his conversation. And many a curious 
question do I ask the patient driver, and to each receive 
a civil, if not always a satisfactory answer. "What is 
the name of this tree, and of that Dorf, whither leads 
this road, and whither that?" 

At Kreutznach I took a lunch at a small hotel, 
amid a group of boisterous farmers, half tipsy with 
beer. Then five miles from here to Freilaubersheim, 1 



SEARCHING FOR UNKNOWN RELATIVES. 135 

leisurely traveled afoot, carrying the light traveling-bag 
at the end of a cane, flung over the shoulder. The 
road, winding around a succession of little hills, is even 
and solid as a pavement. For a mile before you reach 
the village, it is lined with large nut trees, their long 
limbs forming a leafy canopy over the road. The old 
church stands aside of the street, at the end of the 
village. Here my father was baptized and confirmed. 
Aside of it, in the quiet God's Acre, sleep my ancestors 
for generations past. Leaning against and looking over 
the stone wall enclosing it I mused for a while over 
the lessons and thoughts which the gray moss-covered 
monuments suggested. 

But what next? Where or of whom inquire for the 
needed information? Walking through one of the 
narrow streets, I found the village inn, the only one 
here. Seated, on a wooden bench and sipping a mug ol 
milk, I leisurely asked the landlady a few questions. 

u Was there an old burgher living here of the name 
of A. B.?" 

"Yes, a short distance from here." 

Meanwhile she discovered my name on the traveling- 
bag, and woman-iike, plied me with a number of an- 
noying Questions; for I did not wish her to spoil the 
projected surprise. At length she turned to her child, 
saying: 

" Marieche, show the gentleman the way," which the 
little girl promptly did. 

In the yard of a plain village home I met a young 
man, the only son of my uncle, Yost B. So often had 
the family been imposed upon by pretended vagrant 
Americans, that the bare sight of such a roving charac- 



136 A COLD RECEPTION. 

ter excited their suspicion. Surely here comes another 
deceiver, thought the suspecting cousin, as lie saw me. 

"Lives Andrew B. here?'" asked I, after the usual 
greeting. 

" Yes." 

"Could I see him?" 

" Where are you from ?" 

" From America." 

"What do you want with him?" 

"I should like to speak with him?" 

Why should he allow his dear father to be an- 
noyed again by a vagrant? so he replied : 

" I can give you the desired information. What do 
you wish to know?" 

With that his mother, my aunt, having heard from 
her little grand-children what was going on without, 
called to him from the neighboring kitchen: "Yost, if 
he comes from America, have nothing to do with him." 

Fortunately, just then an aged man came down a 
few steps from a room near by. So closely did he re- 
semble my father, that I could scarcely refrain from weep- 
ing. Genesis 43: 30. 

" Here is an American," said his son, " who wishes to 
speak with you." 

Taking a seat aside of me on a bench, he seemed 
ready, as old people usually are, to while away the time 
in talking with a stranger. 

"What part of America are you from?" he inquired. 

" From Pennsylvania." 

"Ah, Pennsylvania. I had a brother living in that 
State; but he is no longer living; I have not heard from 
him for twenty years." 



A JOYFUL DISCOVERY. 137 

Thereupon I asked him many questions; how long 
since his brother (my father) had gone there ? Had he 
a family? How many children? Had he done well in 
the new world? All of which questions he answered 
correctly, never dreaming that I knew him personally. 
My clothes were well-worn and somewhat shabby, hav- 
ing climbed mountains, and traveled much afoot, 
through mud and rain. 

"Do you know this man?" I asked, handing him a 
photograph picture of father. 

"Alas, my eye-sight is too dim to see it clearly. 
Yost, do you look at it." 

Yost looked at the picture, then at his father. What 
could this mean? How could a stranger have a picture 
of his father, which to their certain knowledge had 
never been taken ? 

"I don't know who it is," he muttered, as he blush- 
ingly handed me back the picture. 

Then I handed uncle a letter from father, in which 
he introduced and commended his son to him. 

Again he handed it to his son, saying, "My eye- 
sight is too poor. Yost, will you please read it." 

The son glanced at the date. Then his eyes fell on 
the opening words : " Dear Brother Andrew," and 
quickly as thought, he turned to the signature, then 
with passionate grief grasped my hand, the tears 
streaming down his face, saying, "Why have you 
allowed me to treat you so cruelly?" "Stop, stop, my 
dear cousin," I cried. "Do not grieve; I was cruel, not 
sou." "What is the matter, Y'ost," eagerly inquired 
uncle? 

" Why, this is a letter from your brother, uncle John 
B. He is still living, and this is his son." 



138 SATURDAY EVENING IN A GERMAN VILLAGE. 

The dear old man wept like a child, as he grasped 
my hand. Then came aunt, a neat little bustling' old 
lady, with a small snow-white cap; and a daughter and 
several grand-children. "Come in, come in, in the 
name of the Lord, we bid you thrice welcome," the old 
people exclaimed, for thus far we had been kept in the 
yard. To make assurance doubly sure, I laid a number 
of valuable presents from father on the table, as tokens 
of affectionate remembrance. 

But two of the group of friends on the Bingen 
wharf fifty years ago, are living; the elder brother and 
one of his comrades. How the dear old men press my 
hand, and bless me, the son of the comrade of their 
childhood, and give me a touching description of their 
walk to Bingen in the spring of 1802. 

At six o'clock that Saturday evening, the bell of the 
village church rang. Soon after laborers, men, women 
and children, came from the fields, bringing their hoes 
and spades with them. " What means the ringing of 
the Saturday evening bell?" I asked. 

"That is to tell the people to stop their week-day 
work, and prepare for Sunday. You see they all stop 
their toiling tasks, and come home, as soon as the bell 
rings." This answer of my uncle greatly pleased me. 
This evening, indeed, all the evenings that T spent here, 
the streets were quiet; free from the noise and beer- 
scandals so prevalent in many German towns. It has 
but one drinking-place, a small village inn, where the 
few topers and loafers can find entertainment. 

"To-day we must go to church," remarked my 
venerable uncle on Sunday morning. Here there are 
but two denominations, Protestants and Catholics. The 



THE CHURCH-GOING BELLS. 139 

Protestants are composed of the Lutheran and Re- 
formed members, united in one and the same Church. 
Freilaubersheim has but one church-edifice for both. It 
is a very old stone building, with a quaint tower, and a 
sweet-toned bell, and an ancient organ played by the 
village schoolmaster. At one end of the church is the 
chancel and altar of the Catholic congregation. At an- 
other is the pulpit and small altar of the Protestants. 
While the latter are engaged in worship, the Catholic 
altar is covered with a black cloth. One congregation holds 
its service at 9 a. m. The other at 11 a. m. Each has 
but one service a day. Both get along peaceably in the 
same building, each attending to its own business, and 
leaving others to attend to theirs. 

An hour before church time the village bell rang, and 
with it began the ringing of at least a dozen church 
bells, from one to eight miles off. Sitting with 
uncle on a wooden bench aside of the front door, I 
asked: "Have you other churches near the town? 
Whence the music of so many bells?" 

"Yes, we have a dozen villages around us, each 
having its church. All begin church at the same time, 
and when the bell of one rings, all ring." 

"But why so many towns so near together, Uncle?" 

"The farmers here all live together in small towns, 
and not on their farms. Thus they are all near the 
school and church. Their small farms, of from one to 
twenty acres, lie around the town." 

Sweet was the music of those bells in the valley of 
the Nahe, on that Sunday morning. The soft solemn 
sounds of those farthest off, blended with the peals of 
those less remote, forming a "harmony of sweet sounds." 



140 SUNDAY IN A GERMAN VILLAGE. 

Uncle and aunt were both advanced in years, and dressed 
after the fashion of old people in the rural districts of Ger- 
many. A little white cap, sack and petticoat, tidily arran- 
ged, constituted mainly her dress. Uncle wore woolen 
clothes and cap ; a coat not fully up to the cut then in vogue 
in German cities. But like all sensible old people, they 
both preferred the fashions of their younger years, and to 
these they adhered. 

I walked with them to the house of God. Uncle 
carried a hymn book ; aunt had hers carefully folded in 
her snow-white handkerchief. When we reached the pew, 
uncle stood a few moments holding his cap before his 
face, and aunt folded her hands around her hymn book, 
bowed her head, and both prayed. And I stood de- 
voutly aside of them and prayed too. And I knew that 
my father used to enter his pew the same way in this 
church, when he was a young man. But few people 
came to church that day, who did not make the same 
solemn beginning. 

The church had a paved floor, and a high round 
pulpit, with room for only one to stand in it. At the 
foot of the pulpit stairs was a small box-like apartment, 
for the minister to occupy until the services began. A 
small black-board hung to the wall, had the numbers of 
the hymns written on it. As soon as we had prayed silent- 
ly in the pew, we turned to the first hymn, as did all the 
rest. The pastor announced no hymn, but left the 
black-board tell what was to be sung. 

After the singing of the first hymn, a tall man, 
scarcely thirty years of age, in a black flowing robe, 
stepped out of the box to the altar, and read the Gospel 
for the day, prayed and then retired, while another 



AT CHURCH IN FREILAUBERSHEIM. 141 

hymn was sung. His text was Ephesians, 4: 28. The 
sermon gave a clear, edifying exposition of the text, in 
style far above what an American country congregation 
of this sort could appreciate. But the rural population 
of Germany is well educated in matters of religion. 
Their week-day schools are thorough in their instruc- 
tions. The children all learn their catechisms therein, 
and receive instruction from the pastor twice a week all 
the year round. These plain-habited village people 
have more knowledge in theology than people of 
their standing in America usually possess. Everybody 
here had a hymn book, and everybody sung. Very 
pleasant was it to see every lady, old and young, having 
her hymn book carefully folded in her white handkerchief. 
The organist being also the schoolmaster, had taught all 
the young people the church-tunes. There is no experi- 
menting with new tunes in worship. The old chorals, 
which their fathers sung, are still used. Now that we 
are outside the church, we can better see the people. All 
earnest-looking, working-people, unspoiled by the 
fashions and follies of city life. The men, young and 
old, dress in plain style. Not a few wear home-made gar- 
ments. Almost every family owns a few sheep, and 
raises a patch of flax every year, and spins its own wool 
and flax in winter time, and has its clothes woven by 
the village weaver. The young ladies who spend much 
of their summer time at work in the fields, may well 
have rosy cheeks and voices, sweet as the nightingales 
that sing on the trees around the village. I saw no 
foolish aping of city manners, nor vain flourish of 
feathers and fancy styles. These rustics are content to 
be themselves, and nobody else, and for this they 
deserve praise. 



142 THE FRUITS OF UNBELIEF. 

"Quite a large congregation, you have here," I 
remarked to uncle, as we walked home. "Yes; from a 
child I have worshiped in this church, but never saw it 
so full as to-day. It was rumored that the American 
stranger would preach." 

" But why come for that reason ?" 

" Well, it is very rarely that an American visits our 
village, especially an American minister, and least of all, 
the clerical son of a former burgher of our Dorf." 

" Then, your Freilaubersheim people do not all attend 
church?" 

"Alas, no. Many of our people never go near the 
church, save at funerals. The revolution of 1848 has 
made us much trouble. Then some of our people 
learned not only to hate kings, but also the church and 
her ministers. They charged the latter with aiding 
tyranny, and serving as the police of kings. For awhile 
very few came near the church. Then an unbelieving 
pastor was sent to us. He brought some of them back, 
but only to poison their minds still further with false 
doctrine. Now we have an earnest, good minister, but 
many of our people still refuse to attend his services." 

The village people seemed to take kindly to me. 
Old and young men lifted their caps as I and uncle 
walked homeward, and old grandmothers paused with 
their little urchins at the garden gate to let them see the 
" Amerikaner" as he passed by. The older people 
dressed precisely as did their parents fifty years ago. 
The same hymns and the same chorals or tunes were 
sung at church as then. 

Soon an agreeable circle of new friends clustered 
around me, among others some of the village officials. 



THE CASTLE OF EBERNBURG. 143 

One, an intelligent young man, the "Herr Einnehmer" 
(Treasurer), as he was called when first introduced; the 
other the Fcerster (Forester), who had charge of the 
village forest. For here, where the wood is very scarce, 
every village has its tract of woodland, where the people 
get their fuel. This is given in charge of a keeper, who 
keeps thieves from stealing wood or game, and superin- 
tends the planting of trees and the felling of them. The 
Fcerster of Freilaubersheim was an agreeable, elderly 
gentleman, with a gray beard and graceful manners. 
Perhaps feeling the dignity of his office a little, which 
gave him a sort of military bearing. 

In the afternoon the Fcerster and the Einnehmer 
proposed a walk to the Ebernburger Schloss. This is a 
celebrated castle several miles from here, on the banks 
of the river Nahe. Would I not accompany them? 
Indeed, I was eager to make a pilgrimage to a castle 
which once belonged to Franz von Sickingen, the 
Knight of the Reformation; the last of the Knights- 
errant. There he at different times gave shelter to Mel- 
anchthon, Bucer and Oecolampadius. Ulrich von Huet- 
ten wrote several of his works within these venerable 
walls. I should like to visit Ebernburg Schloss; and 
as it performed a memorable part in the religious strug- 
gles of the Reformation, one might take a walk thither 
on a day sacred to religion. 

Leisurely a group of half dozen followed the Fcerster 
through his wooded domain. Then over fragments of 
farms, parcelled and patched together like a quilt, their 
owners all living in some neighboring village. Only 
one country farm-house we passed; a Bauern Hof, as it 
is called, where a wealthy landowner lived on his farm ; 



144 NOISY BEER DRINKERS IN A CASTLE. 

a stone wall enclosed all the buildings belonging to it. 

After crossing the small river Nahe, we ascended the 
winding road to a hill-top overhanging it, crowned with 
the castle. Its old walls look as if they might have de- 
fied the assaults of any army in Reformation times. We 
followed the Foerster through a damp, half-lighted ante- 
chamber. Opening the hall door, the Foerster bade me 
enter, which I was reluctant to do; for it was a regular 
Beer-kneipe. A noisy drinking crowd sat along long 
tables, with pipes and mugs of beer. The hall was dark 
with tobacco smoke, concealing the pleasant sunlight 
outside. "Guten Tag, Herr Foerster," came from a 
dozen voices as my friend entered, not a few rising bois- 
terously to offer him a seat and a mug of beer. I cannot 
remember a single name of the Fcerster's jovial friends; 
albeit, he introduced me to a number as " Herr Pfarrer 

aus Amerika." Seated at one of the tables I had, 

not exactly, a clear view of the scene where there was so 
much smoke. The Foerster strolled through the hall, 
here and there lifting his cap in response to the salu- 
tations of heated friends. Waiting girls hastened to 
and fro with their mugs, while shouts of loud laughter 
and animated conversation, filled the hall with noise. 

Longfellow's Hyperion tells of a certain prisoner in 
Whitehall, who thought himself in hell; for here, 
"some were sleeping, others swearing, others smoking 
tobacco; and in the chimney of a room there were two 
bushels of broken tobacco pipes, and almost a half a 
load of ashes." 

It was not so bad here, yet bad enough. What 
would Melanchthon, Bucer and Oecolampadius, and 
even the heroic Sickingen say, could they revisit this 



THE GERMAN VILLAGE PASTOR. 145 

hall, once sacred to religion? So asked I, whilst quietly- 
looking on this turbulent scene. The Foerster knew 
that I should feel ill at ease in such an atmosphere, and 
made but a brief stay. Who are these convivial fellows? 
Persons from Kreutznach and from the neighboring 
villages, who, for the sake of a Sunday afternoon's walk 
or ride, resort hither to mingle in social intercourse. 
The short visit to this drinking hall spoiled my im- 
pressions of Sickingen's Schloss. It was a charming 
afternoon, and the road winding along the banks of the 
Nahe toward Kreutznach, was lined with people walking 
and in cabs. 

We returned to the village after a few hours' absence, 
where 1 spent the evening in the quiet home of my 
uncle. Indeed, a pleasing Sabbath stillness rested on 
the entire village. In the afternoon and evening no 
religious services of any kind were held. Groups of 
people, old and young, leisurely strolled through the 
village forest and among the green fields, the children 
merrily prattling and plucking wayside flowers, and the 
older people engaging in innocent conversation. 

Pastor Karl Linz is a gentleman of a thorough uni- 
versity education, and of fine literary taste. He is the 
only Protestant pastor of Freilaubersheim ; has been 
such for a series of years. All the Protestant children of 
the village are compelled to attend the instructions of the 
schoolmaster of the congregation. He gives them daily 
religious instruction in the Catechism. And pastor 
Linz visits the school and examines the children in the 
Catechism two or three times a week. Every Sunday 
he preaches once in the village church, and every 
other Sunday afternoon in the small church of a neigh- 
10 



146 THE PASTOR OF FREILAUBERSHEIM. 

boring hamlet. He knows all his people, old and 
young, by name, and they know him. His salary is 
600 or 800 gulden. Although a gulden is only forty 
cents in our money, it will go as far in Germany as a 
dollar will with us. Beside this, he has the use of a 
commodious parsonage and some fifteen acres of fertile 
land. He receives his whole support from the Gov- 
ernment; all the church members, instead of supporting 
the pastor directly, pay their taxes to the State, which in 
turn pays their spiritual guide. Thus his support is 
always secure, whether the people li^e him or not. In 
some German villages not one in ten of the people 
attend church, and yet the pastor regularly receives his 
salary. 

Very pleasant are my recollections of pastor Linz 
and his amiable wife and sweet children. Three chil- 
dren they had, little angels, which seemed not yet to 
have learned evil. They lived in frugal elegance. Not 
a carpet in the whole house ; albeit, some of the floors 
were painted or strewn with white sand. Their hospi- 
table board, void of needless display, contained the few 
but nutrient dishes, which the discreet German housewife 
so well knows how to prepare. Pastor Linz was well 
booked in the religious and political literature of his 
nation, in discussing which we spent many an agreeable 
hour. Now and then the meek lady of the house, who 
diligently plied her knitting needles, would gently put 
in a question. Thus we three, and the three innocents, 
who with subdued voice and soft tread, engaged in 
their gleeful play, formed many an evening group, 
which I still with joy remember. 

"Herr Pfarrer," said Mrs. Linz, one morning, "will 



THE BIRTH-DAY OF A GRAND DUKE. 147 

you honor us with your company this afternoon, on a 
little Ausflug?" (Excursion). "Whither, Frau Pfar- 
rerin?" (In Germany a pastor's wife is addressed by 
her husband's title, with a feminine termination). " It 
is the birthday of our Churfuerst (the Grand Duke of 
Hessen Darmstadt), which we usually celebrate in a 
neighboring grove." 

On a wooded hill, a mile or two from the village, we 
met a select assemblage of about a hundred people. 
They had come from a few of the nearest villages, 
bringing their pastors with them. A band and a choir 
discoursed sweet music. Groups of people sat under the 
shade trees chatting with innocent glee. Young men 
and maidens strolled arm-in-arm through the grove. 
Around several beer kegs less refined groups stood with 
mug in hand, quaffing their favorite beverage. Three 
pastors, with their families, and a village physician, 
with two intelligent daughters, formed a select group, of 
which I was invited to form a part. On the grassy 
earth we sat, all unbending merrily in the most familiar 
way. Now and then one of the pastors would move 
through the crowd, to greet his members and neighbors. 
Men and boys, without exception, took off their caps as 
he approached, and he, in turn, his hat. He is saluted 
as the Herr Pfarrer (Mr. Pastor), and not by his proper 
name. Towards evening the conversation became more 
animated, at length boisterous, the result of the beer. 
Our group seemed annoyed by the scene. The clergy 
proposed to retire homeward. And thus ended the 
birthday festival of the Churfuerst of Hessen Darmstadt. 
" To-morrow we shall have a Pastoral Conference at 
Bosenheim, I invite you ' hoeflichts' to be present," said 



148 PASTORAL CONFERENCE AT ROSENHEIM. 

pastor Linz. A few miles' walk over a charming road 
brought us thither. Five ministers met at the house of 
the village pastor for literary and social intercourse. 
One read an essay on the diseases of the pastoral office 
and their cure. A familiar conversation followed on the 
same general subject. These brethren have trials, of 
which we American pastors are happily ignorant. They 
are trammelled by State regulations, which force into 
their church councils irreligious officials. "How is it in 
America? How do you govern your churches? How 
visit your people? How raise your salaries?" With 
these and many kindred questions did they ply me, 
which I answered as best I could. 

"How much better it is in America," they all ex- 
claimed. "Herr Schreiber," said one, "write these 
points on our minutes for future discussion." The in- 
evitable social meal or dinner was not lacking. 

Withal, the German country pastor is a happy man 
at least he ought to be. He is the first man in his' 
village. He is honored after a certain style, even by 
those who discard his ministrations. Walking the 
streets of Freilaubersheim with my friend, his presence 
would uncover every head, himself doffing his hat most 
ceremoniously before everybody. He knows the secret 
trials and joys of every home; can call every village 
child by name. He lays the moulding hand of his 
office on the souls of the people, from the cradle to the 
grave — from the baptism, schooling and confirmation of 
the child, to its burial. He lias no petty clerical 
rivalries, nor clerical mountebanks to contend with. No 
proselyting sect plants its pilfering, conventicle into his 
parish; no wolf of this kind to steal his sheep. Each 



VILLAGE LIFE IN GERMANY. 149 

village has one church, and one pastor. Whereas, many 
towns of this size in America, have half a dozen sickly 
congregations, each trying in part to steal its pasture and 
its sheep from the others. Correct some of the evils ex- 
isting in the religious and state regulations of Germany, 
and give their flocks ministers who are as skillful pastors 
as they are able theologians, and the Protestant churches 
of the fatherland, by the blessing of God, might be 
made a Paradise of religious prosperity. 

A blessing on my friend, pastor Linz and his family. 
I can yet see him as we parted last, on the market 
square of the ancient city of Ober Ingelheim. With 
touching tenderness Ave embraced and kissed each other. 

His last word was, " Auf Wiederseh'n." Thence he 
retired to his quiet country parish, and I roved sadly 
onward through "the wide, wide world." 

The Germans pleasantly live in villages, called 
Deerfer. Only on very large farms are the farm-build- 
ings on the premises. It is then called a "Bauern Hof." 
The Dorf is a village of farmers. Around the town lie 
small farms, in fragments of from an eighth of an acre 
to an acre. These are scattered to the north and south, 
east and west, of the villages. Rarely does one find a 
farm of 100 acres. Then it is a Hof. Indeed a farmer 
with 10 acres is considered well off. And this quantity 
of land is most likely cut up into private patches of less 
than an acre, set in among other people's plots, like the 
parcels of a quilt. Some approach so near to a line, thai 
they are forbidden to make them any smaller. Fences 
are unknown here. Not even along the highways are 
they found. Wood is too scarce, and the smallness of 
the fields would take too much of it, even if it were 






150 FARM LIFE IN GERMANY. 

abundant. Over narrow foot-paths, along the edges of 
the fields, the farmers reach their grounds. The most 
of them have to carry their produce out some distance to 
the wagon roads, and many carry all of it home. Not 
an inch of ground is needlessly wasted by fences or 
roads. Every little spot is made to tell, to produce 
something, if it is only a blade of grass. Even along 
the edge of the footpaths, the busy women-reapers care- 
fully cut off the few scattered stems of grass. 

The cattle are kept and fed in the stable all the 
year round, save when the herdsman or shepherd takes 
them to the Dorf Wald or village forest. To let them run 
at large in a grass field would be too wasteful. They 
would tread many a good blade under foot. Besides, 
who could keep his cattle from running into other 
people's fields, without fences? During the grass-grow- 
ing time, the women daily cut grass with the small 
German sickels, bind it in great bales larger than 
themselves, which they bear home on the head. Often 
they bring the feed a distance of one and two miles. 
Morning and evening the streets are alive with these 
women bearing heavy burdens. The men meanwhile 
are engaged in still heavier work. 

Their stock of cattle, like their farms, is small. A 
few farm with horses, more with oxen, the most with 
cows. In Belgium I saw donkeys struggling along 
laboriously in carts, large enough to carry a dozen 
animals like themselves. In Holland, four and six 
dogs, hitched to a wagon, dash through the streets with 
apparent ease, and in some of these German villages, I 
have seen a cow hitched to a truck wagon, galloping 
along as if she had been specially created for that pur- 



THE HOMES OF A GERMAN VILLAGE. 151 

pose. My cousin Yost has two large, sleek, yellow 
cows, well fed and groomed, with which he works his 
ten-acre farm. Besides being good milkers, they per- 
form his work in the plow and wagon, as well as horses 
could do it. 

A German Dorf usually contains from 100 to 1500 
people. How could from 100 to 300 American farmers, 
with their large dwellings, out-buildings, barns and 
stock of cattle, thus dwell together in unity ? The home 
of a German village, like its farm, is confined to a 
small space. Usually it is on a square plot of ground. 
Both the house and the barn stand on the street. 
Between them is the yard — the barn-yard and the house- 
yard in one — the whole small. From it, man and beast 
enter their respective abodes. The house and barn front 
and open on one and the same yard, not on the street. 
You seldom find a street entrance to the house. It is 
reached by passing through a front gateway into the 
yard. The village is built compactly. Few houses 
have two stories. Man and beast dwell in closer 
proximity than with us. They work harder, and get 
much more out of an acre than American farmers. 
Many a German farmer raises more from ten acres, than 
an American from fifty. 

Every village has a forest, where the villagers get 
their fuel. The Frerster assigns each its share of fuel. 
The forest is also the village pasture ground. 

Every village has its geese-herd, swine-herd and 
shepherd. Every morning these respective functionaries 
blow their horns along the street, when geese, swine and 
sheep come running out of every gateway and alley, 
each to join its kind, to be led on a common village 



152 THE BURGERMEISTER. 

pasture. Long lines of gabbling geese run through 
narrow, fenceless footpaths, without daring to touch a 
single blade not their own. The shepherds sometimes 
remain on the neighboring hills for whole weeks. At 
night they commit their flocks to their dogs. These 
animals, not very unlike sheep in color and hair, possess 
a remarkable intelligence and faithfulness. I have seen 
the shepherd walking carelessly ahead of his flock, 
while the dogs would run guard on each side. The 
hungry sheep were tempted to browse among the 
rank wayside grass, while the faithful dog would 
check the slightest attempt at depredations. Landed 
property is pretty equally distributed. With rare ex- 
ceptions, the poorest have a few patches on which to 
raise their bread, and the richest have seldom more than 
20 acres. In this valley good, arable land sells from 
five to eight hundred Gulden an acre, just the bare land, 
for dwellings are distinct property altogether. 

The villages are almost as close together as our 
farm-houses in America. Within four miles of Frei- 
laubersheim, there are at least twelve villages, containing a 
population of from five to fifteen hundred each. Every 
village has a chief magistrate called Burgermeister, as- 
sisted by an adjunct and a town council. Next to the 
pastor, the Burgermeister is the most important man 
in the community and, in some respects, even above him. 
Every marriage must be solemnized by the Burger- 
meister, before it can be done by the pastor. The 
latter is optional, but by the omission of the former 
the bridegroom will forfeit his citizenship. Moreover, 
whether villain or saint, he is chief member of the 
church council — an office corresponding to the eldership 



A VIIil.AGE WEDDING. 153 

in the Reformed Church of the United States. Usually 
my first acquaintance in the village was the minister, 
and then the Burgermeister. I always found them a 
gentlemanly and hospitable class of men, worthy to be 
at the helm of their little Commonwealths. Every 
village has a Protestant and Catholic Church. Some- 
times both denominations worship in the same building. 
Each has a distinct school, in which the pastor is re- 
quired to give religious instruction. 

AVhen I reached Freilaubersheim, there happened to 
be a wedding in the town. Now, a wedding in these 
rural villages is an occasion of rejoicing, in which all 
the inhabitants feel and take a warm interest. Old 
grand-ma's take their frolicing little posterity to greet 
the bride; shy lovers bashfully congratulate the novices 
in wedlock, while their hearts beat hopefully for a simi- 
lar event in their history. Messengers are sent to every 
house with wedding-cake gifts — in short, they are de- 
signed to diffuse universal merriment and joy. The 
news of my arrival was soon carried to the hall of re- 
joicing. The Burgermeister was consulted to have me 
brought thither as their guest. He replied that much 
as he desired to entertain the son of their ancient burger, 
it would be contrary to the rules of etiquette to 
take so newly arrived a stranger away from the retired 
welcome of his happy relatives into the merry crowd of a 
wedding. Weddings are often a key to the manners of 
a people, and on this account this one might have been 
interesting to the mind of a curious traveler. 

Notwithstanding their many oddities, I found much 
to admire and love in the simple German habits of 
these rural villages, In this region, the most of their 



154 THE GUEST OF THE VILLAGE TREASURER. 

names end in home, such as Bosenheim, Ingel//<v///, 
Baden//'/?//, <tc. In itself an indication of the predomi- 
nant home-feeling of the German family. Their home 
attachments are intensely strong. Many still live in 
the house in which their ancestors had lived for five 
hundred years, and very probably they may remain a 
family inheritance for five centuries more. For German 
homesteads are not as evanescent as those in America. 
Nothing but necessity can compel them to part with 
their two-fold inheritance — their dwelling and the good 
name of their ancestors. Though devoted to severe and 
constant toil for a bare living, they are always cheerful 
and contented. Often did their unsuspecting hospitality 
press me to their homely fare, where old and young 
were entertained with mirthful and mournful tales. 

" Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, 

Where all the ruddy family around, 

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, 

Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 

And learn the luxury of doing good-" 

" Herr Pfarrer, ich lade Sie hoeflichst ein heute Abend 
das Abend Brod mit uns zu essen." Thus said the polite 
Treasurer of the village to me one morning, a young 
unmarried man, intelligent for a villager, living with 
his widowed mother. In American style, the above 
would simply mean a polite invitation to tea. At H p. 
in., I was welcomed by him and his kind mother. The 
meal our gormandizing Americans would pronounce 
ridiculously meagre. On the plain table, without a 
cloth, was rye bread, a large bowl of lettuce on the 
centre of the table, a bottle of excellent grape wine, for 



DEPARTING FROM MY RELATIVES. 155 

which this Nahe region is distinguished. I relished the 
simple fare much, and the warm heartsome conversation 
of my hospitable host and hostess still more. 

The ten days spent in the quiet Christian home of 
my uncle, partaking of its cheerful hospitality, form a 
sunny spot in my pilgrimage. When I left, the dear 
old people kissed me, and wept as if I had been their 
child. 



OHAPTEK r X 



OBER-INCELHEIM. A CHURCH FESTIVAL. FRANK- 
FORD. SPIRES. MAYENCE. HEIDELBERG. 



From the summit of the Niederwald, opposite 
Bingen, \ took a parting view of the Nahe valley. Tho 
romantic river drains the country around and beyond 
Kreutznach. The view from here extends nearly thirty 
miles. Its scope embraces an Eden-like scenery, uplands 
and lowlands, its valleys and hillsides dotted with 
thriving villages. Here and there mossy ruin crowns 
some mountain top. From Bingen southward the 
scenery and historical associations of the Rhine become 
loss interesting. 

The following day the Palatinate branch of the 
the Gustav Adolph Verein (Gustavus Adolphus Society) 
was to convene at Ober-Ingelheim, a few miles south of 
Bingen. These annual meetings are popular festivals, 
as well as important religious occasions. A short ride 
on the Rhine steamer brought me to the Ingelheimer 
Landing. A hack conveyed the visitors a distance of 
nearly two miles across the country to the place. It is 
now a small country town. Tradition holds it to be the 
birthplace of Charlemagne,and the villagers claim that he 
had a magnificent palace here, whose ruins are now 
covered with mud hovels, dung-heaps, and a Jewish 
burying ground. The large number of strangers were 
comfortably quartered in the village. Mv kind host was 
Justice Stork, an educated French gentleman, 

156 



THE GUSTAV ADOLPH VEREIN. 157 

The Gustav Adolph Verein was first organized in 
1841, by the Lutheran, Reformed and United Churches 
of Germany. Being set np for the spread and defence 
of Protestant Christianity, it was named after the great 
Swedish champion of Protestantism, Gustavus Adolph us. 
Its object is to assist weak congregations in Catholic 
communities to build churches, and support pastors. Its 
motto is "Faith that worketh by love." The fruits of 
its labors arc already scattered over four Continents. 
Its friends are thoroughly organized. The general 
Society has many provincial branch societies, which are 
divided into smaller subordinate branches, down to the 
societies in the congregations. The Society of Hesse 
Darmstadt convened in Ober-Ingelheim. It embraces 
the different Provinces of the old Palatinate. 

In the evening a business meeting of the Verein was 
held in the parlor of a hotel, on the square of the town. 
My friend, Pastor Linz, was the stated clerk of the 
Verein. In the midst of the proceedings a band struck 
up a brisk tune in front of the building. A large meet- 
ing of the Ober-Ingelheimers had come to welcome the 
guests of their historic town. At the close of the music, 
calls were made for Prelat Zimmerman, who was a 
prominent representative of the Society, and as a speaker 
a popular favorite. " Herr Prelat, " said the clerk, " they 
are calling for you." He was a man somewhat above 
middle life, of medium heighth, well-set, and of a plain 
exterior. Through an open window he addressed the 
crowd below in the square, thanked them in the name 
of his brethren of the Verein for this pleasing and 
hospitable reception, addressed to them a few warm 
words on the object and work of the Gustav Adolph 



158 A RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL. 

Verein, and wound up by a flattering allusion to the 
ancient historical associations of their town, and with 
a stirring passage on the dear German Fatherland. His 
style was simple and fervid, sending his words right to 
the hearts of his hearers. After the applause of the 
crowd had subsided, the business was resumed. 

At four the next morning, a large band heralded the 
beginning of the festive day from the heighths of an 
old Castle. At eight a large procession was formed, 
which, notwithstanding the efforts of the police, pro- 
ceeded with difficulty through the crowded streets to a 
venerable church of the middle ages. The praises of 
the occasion were lead by a choir, composed of several 
hundred scholars, Irom prattling little boys and girls to 
those verging on man and maiden-hoood, who sang 
their several parts with faultless skill. First the organ 
led off in notes so deep and thundering that the old 
walls seemed to tremble, then the congregation sang, 
" Was ruehrt so maechtig Sinn und Herz," to which 
the band and choir responded : 

" Ein himmlisch Feuer ist entflammt 
Durch dich, der aus dem Himmel stammt 
Und uns zum Himmel leitet." 

After an appropriate prayer, the vast multitude within 
and without the church sang as with the voice of one 
man, "Ein feste Burg is unser Gott," so as I have 
never heard it before. The addresses were free from all 
negative polemics. The speakers seemed charged with 
the fire of Evangelical Charity, that flashed its flames 
into the hearts of their hearers. Prelat Dr. Zim- 
merman read a report, in which he told in simple, 
grateful language, what the Lord had done through 



AN ENTHUSIASTIC MEETING. 159 

their agency during the past year. He commenced at 
the circumference, sweeping round and round. As the 
circle narrowed, the facts increased, and the fervor 
became more intense, until he closed by converging the 
contents of the whole field into the centre, where the en- 
thusiasm of the multitude had been raised to such a 
pitch that they snatched the closing word from his lips 
by roaring a unanimous Amen. The whole festival 
seemed like a real Pentecost, where new fire and new 
gifts descended upon the multitude. All seemed to 
have caught a new inspiration of hopeful energy, and of 
the charity of Jesus Christ. 

The Committee of Arrangements enrolled my name 
as a guest of the Verein, with the request to address the 
meeting. After a number of persons had spoken, the 
presiding officer announced the name of an American 
guest. With difficulty I made my way through the 
crowded aisle to the pulpit. But young in the ministry, 
and not sufficiently at home in the German language to 
address such a cultivated audience, I felt painfully em- 
barrassed. Still what little I said about the religious 
wants of the Germans in America, was kindly received; 
the several points were ordered to be recorded on the 
minutes, and referred to the ensuing meeting of the 
Verein, in Bremen. 

As usual at such festive gatherings in Germany, 
after the religious exercises had closed, the clerical 
members of the Verein and their guests were invited to 
a feast. Long tables had been spread in a large tent, 
erected at the edge of the village. The tent and tables 
were fully occupied. Aside of each plate stood a bottle 
of wine. Leisurely and long the crowd partook of the 



160 A CLOSING BANQUET. 

feast, Above the clattering of plates, knives and forks 
was heard the hum of cheerful conversation, which gave 
additional zest to the repast, Seen from our American 
point of view the convivial hilarity of such a clerical 
feast produced a strange impression. 

At length the cloth was removed. A venerable 
Superintendent of one of the Hessen districts, who pre- 
sided at the feast, announced the toasts, some of which 
were responded to with a short speech. At length he 
toasted the foreign guest and his Church, somewhat as 
follows: "My brethren, fill and touch your glasses in 
a hearty 'hoch' for our brother from a foreign land and 
the church he represents. May God richly bless our 
brethren of the Reformed Church in the United States, 
and prosper her efforts to extend his kingdom." Scarcely 
had he ended the toast, when the whole assembly arose, 
each holding up his glass as high as his head, all shout- 
ing " hoch" with a will, and dozens rushing towards me 
to bump my glass, smiling and loudly greeting me with 
a " hoch." The dinner being ended, the crowd dis- 
persed hither and thither. A group of the younger clergy 
invited me to accompany them on a visit to the tra- 
ditional ruins of Charlemagne's palace, about a mile 
from the village. The following morning my genial 
host, Justice Stork, accompanied me towards the Rhine. 
In the midst of a wheat field, through which the path 
led, he embraced and kissed me, giving me a parting 
adieu. 

Germany abounds with mineral springs, which, 
during the summer season, are numerously visited by 
persons from all parts of the world. The Germans 
have a universal custom to visit at least one of these 



A CURE FOR FLEAS. 161 

places during the year. Kreutznach has extensive salt 
springs, whose waters have precisely the taste of epsom 
salts. At W'esbaden hot springs gush out of the earth, 
constantly sending up curling clouds of vapor. The 
water tastes not very unlike chicken broth. While 
hundreds of invalids had resorted thither to wash the 
fruits of over-exertion or dissipation from the system, I 
happened to find relief of an affliction which had re- 
sulted from a very different cause. Every country 
must have its plague, so Rhine-Hessen must have its 
fleas. Of all the little annoyances in the wide world of 
animated nature, whether quadruped, poliped or sineped, 
there are none of such taunting annoyance, which are 
so much everywhere and yet nowhere, as fleas. And 
here these little airy-nothings possess a ubiquity like the 
frogs of Egypt. I did not inform myself of the chemi- 
cal properties of these waters, but their medicinal virtues 
for the cure of fleas are beyond dispute. 

In a little more than an hour the cars whirled us 
from Wiesbaden to Frank fort-on-the-Main. This is 
one of the free towns of Germany, an iw/perium in im- 
perio, and the seat of the German Diet. Its present 
population is 77,000, of which 6,000 are Jews. The 
latter all live in one section of the city, called the Ju- 
dengasse, in which is also the house where the Roths- 
child family were born. Frankfort was founded by 
Charlemagne; afterwards it became a rallying point for 
the Crusaders. It was the capital of the German Em- 
pire. It is the birth-place of Goethe. It is bounded on 
one side by the Main, and its other sides are fringed 
with parks and promenades. These properties make it 
a city which few visitors leave without regret. Here 
11 



162 FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN. 

you have all the advantages of the Past, with the con- 
veniences of the present. In fact — 

" The Past 
Contending with the Present, and by turns 
Each has the mastery." 

Outside the wall a new city is rapidly rising, composed 
of palatial dwellings, mostly the homes of bankers and 
retired gentlemen. Some of these also reside in a new 
part of the old town within the walls. The old town 
proper has narrow streets, quaint, lofty buildings, five 
and six stories high, each ascending story projecting 
over the one below, until the attics almost meet midway. 
During rainy weather, which I had the misfortune to 
meet here again, these overhanging projections form a 
complete shelter. From the narrowness of the streets, 
those in the upper stories cannot well observe the 
passing crowd below. To obviate this difficulty, mirrors 
are placed in front of the windows, consisting of two 
pieces of glass. These form a certain angle with the 
street, so as to reflect the scene below, and bring it 
right on the window. While the German lady sits 
quietly sewing or reading at the window, she can see all 
the fashions and follies of the crowd passing before her 
window, alone the unobserved of all observers. 

The Roemerberg is an old building, containing the 
Kaisersaal and other rooms used by the old German 
Emperors and their Senates. In one corner of this is a 
building which Luther occupied. In the Cathedral is 
the Election Chapel, in which forty-six Emperors were 
chosen, and afterwards crowned in front of the high 
altar. The house in which Goethe was born, looks 
remarkably fresh for its age. Here his stern, unamiable 



COMMISSIONAIRES. 163 

father had his altercation with the French officer. Here 
his tender, affectionate mother played the mediator 
between the harsh father and his affrighted son. Here 
the boy-Goethe played and powdered, dreamed and 
endured, and despaired. And not very far from 
this, at the Cathedral, was the gorgeous display of the 
Imperial Coronation, which wrought so powerfully on 
his youthful imagination. On the middle of the bridge 
over the Main, on an iron post stands the golden cock, 
at which the little fellow used to marvel with curious 
cogitations. 

Hitherto I have had little to do with commissionaires, 
or special guides. In Brussels, where I was ignorant of 
the language, I yielded to the importunate offers of one at 
a stipulated fee, who said he could "explicate" every- 
thing in English. But I soon found this word about all 
he knew. He regretted that I could not understand 
German. I told him he should let me have it in 
German, but he knew still less of that. He ran me 
through muddy streets lor an hour after the very 
objects least worth seeing, and took me through an 
ordeal of gesticulating "explications" that were painful 
to see and hear. While passing through the Cathedral 
I noticed him performing his devotions and genuflections 
at the images, and thought the man after all had some re- 
ligious principle about him. But he had scarcely 
crossed the threshhold before he demanded a double 
fee! Poor man — 

" Even in penance, planning sins anew." 

At Antwerp I was besieged by a set with unusual 
tenacity. I told them in German, English and broken 



164 THE CITY OF MAYENCE. 

French that I did not want them. But still they followed, 
placing themselves before me to hinder my progress 
until I felt my situation exceedingly awkward. I put 
down the traveling-bag, and with cane in hand, drew 
myself up at full length in an attitude which they in- 
terpreted very correctly, and speedily disappeared. At 
Worms a crowd discovered me at a distance coming 
from the depot, who tried to outrun each other for the 
job, with such scrambling speed, that I narrowly escaped 
from a serious collision. 

Mayence (German Mainz) like most of the large 
towns along the Rhine, originated from a camp which 
Drusus pitched here, and which afterwards was made a 
permanent bulwark against the Germans. Beneath an 
old tower within the citadel the remains of Drusus are 
said to be interred. This city is the strongest fortress of 
the German confederation. It is surrounded by massive 
walls, and these again by large entrenchments, by means 
of which the city can be surrounded with water in a 
very short time. It has a population of 40,000, and at 
present a garrison of 12,000 soldiers. Mayence was the 
metropolis of the German Church during the middle 
ages. Its Archbishop was premier prince of the German 
Empire, and usually figured prominently in the conflicts 
and schemes of that turbulous period. Boniface, the 
Apostle of Germany, was its first Archbishop in the 
eighth century. An Englishman by birth and edu- 
cation, he carried the Gospel to the barbarous nations of 
Germany, in company with eleven other monks, and 
during a mission of thirty years, converted more than 
one hundred thousand heathen to Christianity. In the 
Cathedral is a monument erected to his memory. 



THE CITY OF WORMS. 166 

Mayence is further noted as the birth-place and resi- 
dence of Gutenberg, the inventor of the art of Printing. 
One of its squares contains his bronze statue, to whose 
erection all parts of Europe gratefully contributed. 
Arnold von Walboten, a citizen of Mayence, first sug- 
gested the plan of suppressing the feudal tyranny along 
the Rhine. Many of the lords who dwelt in these 
Castles were little better than freebooters. They would 
exact tribute from tradesmen and merchants, and even 
levy "black mail," until their robberies had become 
a terror to Germany. At the instigation of Walboten, 
the Castles were reduced to their present ruins, and are 
now, though mostly uninhabited, devoted to more 
humane purposes, than those of their former occupants. 

With W^rms I was very much disappointed. The 
curse of war has made it but a shadow of its former self. 
Its population once thirty thousand, has dwindled down 
to eight thousand, and its present condition exhibits 
symptoms of increasing decay. But the history of 
Worms will survive with undiminished interest the 
direful calamities of war. Here Charlemagne was mar- 
ried, and around Worms he held those rude, but eventful 
assemblies of the Franks. It has been the seat of many 
Imperial Diets. One of the most important was that in 
1521, where Luther was summoned to appear before 
( Jharles V. 

I met with a little occurrence here, common to all 
tourists, which reminded me of the young American, 
who, after weeping profusely over what he thought the 
tomb of Washington, discovered that it was only his ice- 
house. My guide-book told me that the celebrated 
Diet of Worms had been held in the Cathedral. Like a 



166 THE DIET OF WORMS. 

good tourist, I sat me calmly down in the Cathedral 
park, and while looking at the old door leading through 
the principal entrance, the whole scene passed vividly 
before my imagination. The youthful Emperor, the 
pride of Europe, attended with all the pageant of the 
Empire; the gaudily apparelled Cardinals, Bishops and 
Legates, and then the apostate monk and his despised 
little party, all with difficulty led through the immense 
multitude by armed men and heralds. The scene fitted 
charmingly to the Cathedral and its surroundings. But 
lo! when the sexton led me through the building, he 
informed me that the Diet had never been held there, 
but in a building on a neighboring square, whose site is 
now occupied by a Lutheran church. Such little in- 
cidents are more a diversion than disappointment. But 
of a truth, this little old Worms, though partly in ruins, 
possesses a great interest to a reflecting mind. For that 
Diet was undeniably the most momentous event in 
modern history. It is here where modern civilization 
forks into diverging channels. It was not the mo- 
mentary product of that day's assembly, but the com- 
bined result of antecedent causes which here were 
brought to a point. No European city had ever been 
honored with a more imposing and eventful assembly. 
The glory and pomp of the Empire, and the wisdom and 
gorgeous display of the Papacy combined to form a 
spectacle of surpassing grandeur, and yet far grander, 
morally, was the unarmed, helpless hero of the scene. 
About two miles from Worms, at the end of Pfaffiig- 
heira, stands Luther's Elm. It is said to date its origin 
from the fourth century. It measures twelve feet in 
diameter, thirty-seven in circumference, and one hun- 



luther's elm at worms. 167 

dred and twenty-eight feet in heighth. Tradition says 
that Luther rested under this tree, whither his friends 
had come out to meet him, and where they warned him 
not to enter Worms; to which he made the memorable 
reply that he would "go to Worms, though there were 
as many devils within its walls as there were tiles on its 
houses." Seats and a railing are fixed around its trunk 
to guard it with religious care. There is something im- 
pressively interesting in this venerable Elm, and I 
found it exceedingly refreshing to loiter beneath its 
shade. How many, many generations have passed 
away since it first grew a tender twig of the forest. 
Here it stood when the wild hordes of Attilla rolled their 
crushing waves over these plains. Here it stood when 
Europe poured her millions into the Orient to rescue the 
Holy Sepulchre from the hands of the barbarous Infidel. 
Here it stood when Luther and his despised train ap- 
proached Worms with a melancholy step. And here it 
still stands, like a star hanging on the horizon of eve- 
ning, a living memento of the past, raising its peerless 
head in solitary grandeur, high above all the trees of the 
field. Its green top, tall and erect, is seen for miles 
around. It has survived the revolutions and wrecks of 
Empires; it may survive many more. Should prince 
or peasant dare to destroy it, thousands with uplifted 
hands would raise the indignant cry of 

"Woodman, spare that tree." 

Mannheim has quite an American appearance. It 
has repeatedly been razed to the earth by wars, and 
rebuilt again. In its last disaster, the seige of 1795, 
only fourteen houses remained uninjured. Fortunately 



168 THE CITY OF MANNHEIM. 

for its future peace, it has been left without walls or 
ramparts, for these, instead of furnishing protection, only 
provoke assault and ruin. Formerly several hundred 
English resided here, but since the revolution of '48, 
their number has been greatly diminished. The town is 
laid out in broad, straight streets and rectangular squares, 
a thing rarely met with in German towns. 

After spending a week in the monotonous plain 
of the southern Rhine, I found a pleasant relief in 
getting to Heidelberg. It is situated in a mountain 
opening through which the Neckar issues into the 
valley of the Rhine. It stretches its narrow length 
along the banks of this stream, with a towering range 
of projecting and receding mountains on both sides. 
The only clear and extensive view is towards the Rhine 
through the mouth of the little Neckar Valley. One 
would suppose that a city surrounded by such natural 
ramparts could easily avert the assaults and calamities 
of war; but Heidelberg, like its neighbors, has passed 
through scenes of terrific carnage. It has repeatedly 
been sacked, plundered and destroyed, and its present 
nourishing condition is a proof of its tenacious vitality. 
Its university ranks among the first of its kind in 
Europe. It has a history of nearly five hundred years, 
and has numbered among its faculty stars of the first 
magnitude. These German students have a fighting 
ferocity that is truly appalling. At Heidelberg they 
sometimes have four and five duels a week. They had 
several while I was there. 

Heidelberg Castle, the residence of the Electors of 
the Palatinate, is in ruins. But an invigorating atmos- 
phere surrounds it even in its decay. Large gardens 



THE CITY OF HEIDELBERG. 169 

are planted around it, with winding, shady avenues, before 
which its old crumbling walls raise their firm battlements, 
gray with the dust of many a siege. Above the Castle 
is the Koenigstuhl, surmounted by a lofty tower of 
1752 feet above the level of the sea. The spire of the 
Munster at Strasburg can be seen from this on a clear 
day, a distance of ninety miles. From the summit of 
this mountain the army of the fierce and cruel Tilly 
belched fiery destruction upon the ill-fated city during 
the Thirty Years' War. On the opposite side of the 
Neckar is the Heiligeberg; along its side a long road 
winds through vineyards, called the " Philosopher's 
Walk," because the professors used to promenade along 
here. I found it pleasant ot an evening to stroll along 
this sequestered path, and listen to the merry hum of 
closing day. Far below, the rolling stream made a 
rippling melody, the city swarmed through its doors 
and streets, while streams of tourists from every 
nation strolled through walks and avenues above the 
Castle, chattering merrily. And then, to crown the 
whole, the town-clocks would toll the knell of the expired 
day. First a little one would strike the hour in soft and 
feeble notes, then another in louder peals; and so each 
in its turn, like so many sentinels heralding along their 
line important news, until the last and largest struck 
a deep and mournful knell, which vibrated from hill to 
hill, until the last hour of day died faintly and forever 
away in the deep solitude of the distant glen. 

Spire, on the opposite side of the Rhine, and several 
hours' ride from Heidelberg, is less distinguished for the 
beauty of its scenery than its interesting history. The 
Reformed were first called Protestants at Spire, because 



170 THE CITY OF SPIRES. 

they protested against the decisions of a Diet held in a 
church still existing here. The Cathedral of Spire is an 
imposing building. There is nothing very striking 
about its exterior, except its massiveness, but its interior 
abounds with objects of interest. Beneath its pavement 
formerly reposed the remains of eight German Emperors, 
but the ravages of war have made it uncertain how 
many are left. In the middle of the 12th century, St. 
Bernard visited Spire in behalf of the Crusades, and 
preached with great fervor in the Cathedral. One 
sermon, flashing with impassionate eloquence, had such 
an effect upon the king, that he interrupted him in the 
midst of his discourse, requested him to hand him the 
cross from the altar, and from this on the powers of 
Germany took a vigorous part in the prosecution of the 
Crusades. To say nothing of its magnificent fresco- 
works, of its grand and gilded arches, it contains a 
splendid collection of scripture paintings. "A thing of 
beauty is a joy forever," and especially when it bodies 
forth in lively and impressive forms, the beauties of 
Revelation and the graces of the Christian religion. Its 
long nave is hung with twenty-four paintings, repre- 
senting scriptural scenes. Standing at the west end you 
look through a long vista of perspective, lined with 
these works of art, which terminates in a dome above 
the high altar, towards which they all look, in whose 
centre is a large painting of Jesus Christ, the Lamb, 
slain for the salvation of the world, and a Priest forever 
after the order of Melchisedec. Around him, in the 
two transcepts, are "a cloud of witnesses" — apostles, 
martyrs and confessors, the firsts ripe fruits of his 
finished redemption. The paintings are modern, and 



THE REFORMED CHURCH IN HEIDELBERG. 171 

have been procured through the liberality of the King of 
Bavaria. 

I approached the city of Heidelberg with feelings 
not very unlike those with which a Romanist approaches 
Rome. Not because I expected to find a Reformed 
Pope there, but on account of its history and associations. 
The capital of the old Palatinate, the home of the trials 
and triumphs of the founders of the German Reformed 
Church, which has given to it a Catechism, the purity 
and catholicity of whose doctrines have endeared it to 
men of every creed ; these considerations furnish an apolo- 
gy for indulging in a short denominational digression. 
It was very reasonable that the distinctive tendencies 
represented by Luther, Calvin and Zwingli, should 
be brought to grapple with each other in serious con- 
test on some geographical intermediate field. And 
since one representative was in Geneva, one in Witten- 
berg, and the other in Zurich, it was natural that this 
contest should be carried forward in southwestern Ger- 
many. Its first occasion resulted from the immigration 
of fugitive congregations. Their most prominent repre- 
sentative was John Von Laski, a native and nobleman 
of Poland. Personally acquainted with Zwingli and 
Erasmus, he saw the necessity of a Reformation, but 
thought it should take place in the bosom of the Roman 
Catholic Church. After many efforts he found this im- 
possible, declined the acceptance of a Bishopric and 
fled, an exile for the rights of conscience, to the Nether- 
lands. Banished from here in 1549 by a special 
Imperial edict, he took refuge in England, which the 
liberal reign of Edward VI had made an asylum for all 
the oppressed. The fugitive congregations in London 



172 THE CRADLE OF THE REFORMED CHURCH. 

chose Von Laski as their superintendent. But when 
the Catholic Mary ascended the throne in 1553, they 
were forced to the alternative of returning to the 
Catholic Church, or leaving the country. Von Laski 
and one hundred and seventy-five of their number emi- 
grated to Denmark. But unaccustomed to the phrase- 
ology, though believing in the substance of the real 
presence in the Eucharist, they incurred the suspicion 
of the Danish Lutheran Magistrates and Pastors. They 
were denounced as "Martyrs of the Devil," thrown into 
prisons, and in the depth of winter persecuted from city 
to city. Finally, when their numbers had greatly 
diminished by the dire diseases resulting from these 
cruelties, Von Laski and his surviving flock found 
a refuge in Frankfort-on-the-Main, in April, 1555. 
The year before, a French fugitive congregation had 
found a refuge here, which to this day has a flourishing 
existence under pastor Bonet. Von Laski's flock was 
the origin of the present German Reformed congrega- 
tion, of which Drs. Suedhoff and Schrseder are the 
pastors. A few years after their arrival the predomi- 
nance of ultra Lutheranism brought upon them renewed 
persecution. They were compelled to hold public 
worship in Bockenheim, a neighboring village, until the 
present century. This induced many to emigrate into 
the neighboring Palatinate, where they organized con- 
gregations in Heidelberg, Mannheim and many other 
towns. This little fugitive flock, like the early Puritans 
of New England, hunted and persecuted from country 
to country, though repeatedly crushed by sectarian 
bigotry and the civil arm, had a vitality which could 
not be destroyed. In the Providence of Cod it was the 



AUTHORS OF THE HEIDELBERG CATECHISM. 173 

little mustard seed planted in the Palatinate, now grown 
to a large tree, whose spreading branches furnish a 
grateful shelter to thousands in both hemispheres. Great 
and good men helped to nurse and prune this tree ; 
Calvin, Zwingli, Oecolampadius, and many others. 
Though comparatively a "little flock," with which 
others have meant it ill, her Father's good pleasure has 
never been withdrawn. In 1635 the Palatinate passed 
into the hands of Jesuit Princes, who, for nearly a cen- 
tury, resorted to every conceivable cruelty to eradicate 
the Reformation. This persecution drove many pious 
exiles to America, to whom we are indebted for the first 
organization of the Reformed Church of the United 
States. Our early pioneers were mostly men from the 
Palatinate, whose praise is still in all the churches. 

During the sixteenth century there was a celebrated 
law school at Bourges on the banks of the Eure in the 
interior of France. It happened that a German prince, 
Herman Louis, son of Frederick III of the Palatinate, 
was at that time a student there. On the 1st of July, 
1556, this prince in company with his teacher, was pre- 
vailed upon by a number of drunken students to cross 
the Eure in their boat. A young student of Treves, 
the son of a baker, stood by and warned them not 
to risk their lives with such men. Still they went. 
The boat was upset, the teacher could swim and vainly 
endeavored to save their lives, but they found a watery 
grave. The baker's son, eager to save the life of the 
young prince, leaped into the stream, but was also 
drawn out into the 'deep by the rushing current. In the 
agony of death he made a solemn vow, that if God 
would save his life, he would preach the Gospel to his 



174 A NARROW ESCAPE. 

countrymen at Treves. A servant of the drowned 
prince saw his head, and thinking it to be that of his 
master, seized and brought Caspar Olevianus, the baker's 
son, ashore. To redeem his vow he studied theology suc- 
cessively at Geneva, Lausanne and Zurich, and became 
a teacher and pastor in his native city. His zeal and 
success soon provoked persecution, and he together with 
the prominent members of his flock were imprisoned. 
In the meanwhile the father of the drowned prince had 
become Elector of the Palatinate, and called Olevianus 
from his dungeon to a Professorship in Heidelberg. 
Afterwards he became pastor of the church of the Holy 
Ghost, and during his pastorate he and Zacharias Ur- 
sinus, who also was professor in Heidelberg, composed 
the Heidelberg Catechism. 

On a Sunday morning in 1545, a large congregation 
assembled in the church of the Holy Ghost in Hei- 
delberg. When the priest commenced to celebrate Mass, 
the multitude with united voice commenced to sing that 
beautiful hymn of the Reformation : 

" Es ist das Heil una kommen her." 

The priest speedily left the church, and the congre- 
gation with an aged Evangelical pastor, held Reformed 
worship. On the first Sunday of the following year, 
third of January, the Holy Supper was first adminis- 
tered according to the Protestant custom. On the third 
of January, 1846, the citizens of Heidelberg held a tri- 
centennial festival to commemorate this event. Still the 
cause of the Reformation had to endure an unequal and 
uncertain contest until 1556, when Otto Henry suc- 
ceeded to the Electorate of the Palatinate, and took up 



A REFORMATION FESTIVAL. 175 

his residence in Heidelberg Castle. He was a mild 
generous young prince, and had previously endured a 
six years' exile, as a penalty for his zeal in the Re- 
formation. He gave an asylum to Menno Simon and 
his party who had been cruelly persecuted, not because 
he agreed with them, but because he considered them 
equally entitled with others to the enjoyment of the 
rights of conscience. On the 4th of April, 1 556, Otto 
Henry formally introduced the Reformation into the 
Palatinate. 

This event was commemorated in the Grand Duchy 
of Baden, which includes the old Palatinate, on the 29th 
of June last, by a tri-centennial festival. Providentially 
I arrived at Heidelberg in time to attend these festivi- 
ties. The dawn of this festive day was announced by a 
band from a lofty belfry. In the morning I attended 
services in the church of the Holy Ghost, in which Otto 
Henry and a number of other Electors of the Palati- 
nate are buried, of which Olevianus was pastor, and im- 
mediately before which is the market place, where the 
University of Heidelberg gave Melanchthon a public 
welcome. 

Pastor Plith preached an instructive sermon, on a 
few events connected with the day, which it com- 
memorated. How these Germans praise! I have 
heard more cultivated singing confined to a few, but 
never did I hear such soaring outbursts of sacred song. 
A mighty organ under the hands of a performer who 
seemed to have the instrument under his absolute con- 
trol, a large band warbling notes of profound sweetness 
Avhich softened the harsher peals of the organ, the organ 
gallery thronged with crowds of school children, 



176 FESTIVE SERVICES. 

who sang with all the pious cheerful mirth of their in- 
nocent hearts, and the vast congregation, crowded aisles, 
galleries and benches, singing as with the voice of one 
man every syllable with clear and intelligible distinct- 
ness; all these combined, produced a most enchanting 
melody of praise, which the most stubborn heart could 
not resist. At 1 1 o'clock, I attended another service in 
St. Peters, to whose door Jerome of Prague attached his 
celebrated theses, and in whose immediately surrounding 
church-yard he expounded them to a multitude of 
hearers. The church was hung with garlands, the 
symbols of festive joy. Dr. Schenkle, professor of the 
University, and a man of distinction in theological 
science, preached on Rev. 3: 11. To a musical voice 
he unites a clear style and impassionate fervor, which 
makes him an effective preacher. Still, in the midst of 
these joys I could not resist serious and sad reflections. 
What will be the condition of Europe, of the World, of 
the Church at the recurrence of the next similar festival? 
Or will the threatening convulsions of society produce a 
future which will point the finger of derision at this 
event? Will not these very churches be razed to the 
earth by the hand of war, and counted to the mouldering 
ruins of the past? Another generation, possibly of a 
far different stamp, will be the actors of that future 
stage, and the thousands that praised and rejoiced this 
day, will then praise in heaven, or wail in woe. 



CHAPTER X 



BASEL. MISSIONARY FESTIVAL. BERNE. BERNESE 
HIGHLANDS. INETRLAKEN. LAUTERBRUNNEN. 
JUNGFRAU. GRUENDELWALD. LAKE LU- 
ZERNE AND THE GRUETLI. IN A 
THUNDER-STORM ON THE RIHGI. 
GENEVA. 



The Missionary Society of Basel held its annual 
festival during the first week of July. This anniversary 
is always held in Basel, on account of the different Mis- 
sionary and Charitable institutions in and around this city. 
The Easier Mission House combines an abridged course 
of a College and Theological Seminary. It has edu- 
cated more than 350 Missionaries. In connection with 
this are several preparatory schools for the education of 
children, who afterwards enter the higher departments. 
Several miles from Basel is the Pilgrim Institution of 
the Crischona, to educate Missionaries. At Beugen, 
some fifteen miles distant, is an Orphan Institution, some 
of whose orphans become teachers and others Missionaries. 
Thus Basel is surrounded with a net- work of holy activi- 
ties, which carries blessings to the remotest parts of the 
earth. Whoever has made the experiment, knows how 
hard it is to keep brightly burning the flame of personal 
piety during the dry routine of a Collegiate and Theo- 
logical training. Many have commenced their studies 
with a view to .the ministry, which they terminated in 
12 177 



178 THE MISSION HOUSE AT BASEL. 

one of the other professions ; and, alas ! some in an irre- 
ligious and ungodly life. Partly they were to blame 
for it themselves, but to a great extent it was owing to a 
religious defect in the social arrangement of our insti- 
tutions of learning. Lectures in Theology may entertain 
and instruct, but unless the heart inhales an atmosphere 
impregnated with the social unction of a Christian com- 
munion, it must famish and pine away on the mere 
husks of religion. 

The arrangement of the Basel institution is 
worthy of the highest commendation in this respect. 
Here the cultivation and maintenance of personal piety 
is made the primary object. Students and Professors 
have the most intimate and familiar communion with 
each other. They often hold their meetings of prayer, 
and a kind of private meetings for social conversation, 
they sympathize in each other's trials, and rejoice 
in each other's joys. Then smaller groups and indi- 
viduals solemnly agree to pray for one another. There 
is a sympathy, a communion, a common religious life 
which animates every member, so that really when one 
suffers, all suffer, when one rejoices, all rejoice. Their 
teachers teach them this important branch of ministerial 
education, the art of fraternal communion, not by telling 
them to do it, but by doing it with them. They do not 
command them from their learned professorial heights, 
but come down into their "little upper rooms," where 
they mingle, weep and rejoice with them. In addition 
to these privileges the students derive great benefit from 
the annual Missionary Festivals held here. These 
kindle afresh the flame of Missionary ardor, and incite 
them to renew their vows of consecration to the Master's 
cause. 



A MISSIONARY FESTIVAL. 179 

The recent festival was one of unusual interest. 
Many came to Basel with sad hearts. The last year 
had been one of severe trials. Disease and death had 
greatly weakened their forces in the foreign field. And 
worse than all, a number fell victims to the seductions 
of satan. The frown of heaven seemed to hang over 
them. But these few days of festive communion dis- 
pelled their fears, and made their afflictions a stimulus 
to greater activity and stronger faith. The early part of 
the week was taken up with reports and discussions. 
On Thursday, short addresses were made by Missionaries 
and friends of the cause. These consisted not of a 
recital of statistics, but of confessions and testimonies. 
Grey-headed fathers, who had spent thirty years in the 
foreign field, told the simple story of the cross, and what 
it had wrought through their agency among the be- 
nighted pagans, and above all, what it had done for 
them, delivering them from the bondage of sin, and 
enabling them cheerfully to endure persecutions and the 
withering influences of a corrupt eastern church for the 
sake of their Master. One veteran from Algiers said 
he had recently buried a son, an interesting boy, whose 
early exemplary piety taught even his parents lessons in 
the graces of religion. His lather could preach the 
crucified Redeemer at the grave of his son to the as- 
tonished heathens — preached with joy, for he knew in 
whom his child had believed. " Yes," he said, " if need 
be, we must carry the glad tidings of the Saviour to the 
poor heathens over the dead bodies of our children." 

The services were closed by ordaining three young 
men for the foreign field, who had been educated in the 
Mission House. One of their number preached a vale- 



180 ORDINATION OF MISSIONARIES. 

dictory on John 11 : 40. "Said I not unto thee that, if 
thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst see the glory of 
God." He described the difficulties through which they 
had reached that happy day ; sickness, social hindrances, 
and above all, weak faith. This was a day of triumph 
for them — not of sad apprehensions, but the glorious 
prospect of laboring and suffering for Him who died for 
us. Now they, too, could say, " here am I, send me." 
He spoke with simple eloquence of the power of faith in 
surmounting the difficulties of ministerial and missionary 
labor, where God will perform apparent impossibilities, 
restore the morally putrid dead to life, to show us his 
glory. And above all, will he show us his glory in our 
final and complete sanctification by which we are made 
fit to see and enjoy "the glory which he had with the 
Father before the world was." The ordination was im- 
pressively solemn. The act in itself is solemn, the 
circumstances made it more so. Young men, to whom 
the world seemed to open with hopeful promise, tearing 
themselves away from the associations and endearments 
of home, to plunge into a dark and barbarous country, 
and face a climate which has mown their brethren down, 
like the deadly simoon of the desert, surrounded with 
weeping friends and companions, with calm and un- 
wavering faith, to receive the divine blessing by the 
imposition of hands! O, this was a scene which made 
one feel keenly ashamed of his lack of faith. 

The following day the institution of Beugen held its 
anniversary. Extra trains were put on the road to 
accommodate the multitude of guests. During the ride, 
songs of praise ascended from every car, and all hearts 
beat joyfully with sacred mirth. Inspector Zeller, a 



THE ORPHANS HOME AT BEUGEN. 181 

father in Israel, who has spent 56 years of his life among 
poor children, delivered a lengthy, but deeply interesting- 
report. Thirty-six years ago he commenced with a few 
poor children at Beugen. With no encouragement but 
his strong faith in the power and promises of charity, 
he gathered a few orphans around him, and taught them 
their A B C's. Now he has a flourishing institution, 
liberally supported, which bestows untold mercies upon 
his country and the world; not only delivering poor 
children from the suffering and wretchedness of want, 
but educating them for ministers and teachers, who 
continue the blessed work of this good man. It is a 
pleasure to see this infant flock, composed of children 
plucked from the haunts of wretchedness and crime, 
(one little robber boy, taken from an Alpine bandit), 
cluster and twine their tender affections around their 
aged benefactor. They sang infant hymns, in which 
they praised God, for sending good men to deliver them 
from evil. 

I was favorably impressed by a few characteristics of 
these Basel missionary operations. They were pervaded 
by a Catholic spirit. While members of three or four 
denominations labor for its interest, they do not permit 
their doctrinal differences to disturb their unanimity in 
well-doing. While others waste their powers in polem- 
ical warfare, and bitter condemnatory denunciations of 
each other, these brethren are quietly and prayerfully 
leagued together for the evangelizing of the world. 
Whatever may be their confessional views, their hearts 
are one, and so it should be. This work is not confined 
to the clergy. Laymen from all classes take a promi- 
nent part in the work. I was surprised to hear the 



182 THE CITY OF RERNE. 

addresses of laymen, not only sound in theology, but 
glowing with a sacred fire that ran only proceed from 
new-born hearts. Farmers leave their farms, mechanics 
their shops, tradesmen their counters, to carry on their 
craft among the heathen, and thus by their business in- 
tercourse prepare the way of the Lord in the hearts of 
the pagans, and enable them to receive him more readily 
when presented by his ministers. I derived great 
spiritual enjoyment from these meetings, and I felt that 
it was good to be here. Those of our American brethren, 
who think that all true religion is confined to our side of 
the waters, would do well to attend a Missionary festi- 
val at Basel. If they have a faculty and relish for 
spiritual enjoyment, they will be agreeably disappointed 
in finding a " feast of fat things." 

Berne, the capital of the Swiss Confederation, is situ- 
ated on a peninsula or horse-shoe bend of the river 
Arne, 100 feet above the channel of the stream. It has 
a population of 27,500. The inhabitants and homes 
have an appearance of comfort. Aery rarely does one 
meet with signs of want. Its wide streets look very 
cleanly and neat. The pavements of the principal one 
run through the first stories of the houses, over which 
the upper stories project, forming a delighful arcade to 
shelter the people against shower and sun. Very smooth, 
too, are the pavements, especially for a European city, 
where one often must tread on 

" Pavements fang'd with murderous stones," 

The bear is the "speaking weapon" of Berne. Two 
large bear statues stand guard, and stare down upon you 
from columns at the city gate. Aside the tall statue of 
a Swiss patriot in the Cathedral park, is a large fbear in 



THE BERNESE HIGHLANDS. 183 

the act of putting his head into a bonnet. Two minutes 
before the town clock strikes the hour, a gang of fierce- 
looking bears, dressed in regimentals, march around an 
old figure that holds the sceptre of Time. And the city 
has a bear garden, containing a number of live bears. 
In short, Berne is quite a bearish-looking city. 
One of the German guide books says : 

" Wer reisen will, 

Der schweig fein still, 

Geh steten Schritt, 

Nehm nioht A'iel mit, 

Tret an am fruehen Morgen. 

Unci lasse heim die Sorgen." 

Or in other words: 

" To travel pleasantly, 

Speak sparingly ; 

Walk slow and straight ahead. 

Lie not late abed ; 

Take no cares along, 

Leave luggage at home." 

Which good counsel I thitherto and thereafter 
obeyed. An Alpen stock with a sharp iron point, a 
traveling pouch about twelve inches square, a cloak and 
a plain, well-worn suit on my back, constituted my 
whole outfit for a tour of the Alps. Longer distances I 
would travel by rail, hack or steamer. But mountain- 
climbing and the jaunts through the narrow winding 
valleys, I performed afoot. Thus equipped, I started 
on a tour to the Bernese Highlands, beginning with Lake 
Thun and Interlaken. The latter is situated between 
two lakes, as its name implies, and besides its pic- 
turesque Swiss cottages, has a street of boarding-houses 
and hotels, 






184 [NTERLAKEN AND LAUTERftKUNNEN, 

During the summer it is so much frequented by the 
English, that it almost has the appearance of an English 
village. A walk of a few hours brought me to Lauter- 
brunnen, (All-wells), a valley which doubtless receives 
its name from its numerous springs and water-falls. 
There are some twenty of the latter, which fall wildly 
over its walls. The largest falls from a perpendicular 
height of over 900 feet. It is said to be the highest 
waterfall in Europe. Long before it reaches the base, 
the wind diffuses its waters into clouds of spray, which, 
as they descend, fall gently on the rocks below, and arc 
again condensed into a stream that tumbles wildly away 
down th rough the narrow vallev. When the morning sun 
shines on the spray, it looks like thin transparent gauze, 
dipped in the colors of the rainbow, rolling and 
repeating its folds of splendor, like a cloudy kaleido- 
scope, into ever-changing combinations of beauty. The 
village is thinly scattered over the barren valley, from 
which the toiling peasants with difficulty get their 
scanty living. I called on the village pastor, a man of 
no mean attainments, who was whiffing his pipe with an 
air of unmingled contentment. His parish includes 
three other villages besides, whose people worship in the 
Lauterbrunnen church. The others are high up on the 
mountains. Every Sunday morning long lines of toil- 
worn mountaineers climb down the steep paths to worship 
God in the sanctuary of the valley. When they have .1 
funeral, the corpse is brought down on a mountain sled. 
I met some of his parishioners living eight miles up the 
mountain, who told me that they attended worship every 
Sunday, especially during the summer, unless provi- 
dentially prevented. 



THE WENGER-ALP. 185 

I was reminded by my guide-book to take with me 
into the Highlands a plentiful supply of patience and 
small change, two articles which I found of indispensable 
necessity. These poor people who have to struggle so 
hard for their bread, are tempted to seek relief from the 
hand of charity. Here some beg because it is profitable, 
and others because they must. Some post themselves 
along a rugged path Avith a worn-out hoe, and when they 
see a traveler approaching they set themselves to scraping 
the dust and stones out of the road with all their might. 
A labor for which their only remuneration is the tribute 
of travelers. Others have long Alp-horns and pistols 
with which they raise their undemanded echoes for the 
amusement of tourists, of whom they ask a fee. Here 
and there a cluster of ragged children, the very pictures 
of wretchedness, issue out of some gorge or cabin, and 
whine around you most pitifully for a gift. In some 
places the pastures are enclosed, where the path leads 
through little gates. Here beggars watch for travelers, 
from whom they ask a charity for opening the gate. 
Such a state of things would be a disgrace to many a 
community, but the general poverty of the soil, upon 
which they soleiy depend for a living, furnishes at least 
a partial excuse for this pauperism. 

From Lauterbrunnen I ascended the Wenger-Alp, 
after an early breakfast at the inn, whose excellent 
bread, butter and honey I still remember with pleasure. 
Near. the pass of the summit, 5,300 i'eet high, is a small 
hotel, where I paused awhile. From here I had a view 
of the Jungfrau, 13,000 feet high, whose head is " veiled 
in everlasting snows." It was separated from where I stood 
by a narrow valley, so deep and dark that its base could 






186 THE "AWFUL AVALANCHE. 

not be seen. Though perhaps eight or ten miles distant, 
it seemed comparatively near. Several times dark clouds 
clung around its steep sides, while the sun dazzled on 
its snow-crowned head with cloudless splendor. I 
thought of the beautiful image of the godly person in 
Goldsmith's " Deserted Village : " 

" As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm ; 
Though round its breast, the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on his head." 

Sometimes white clouds hung around its crown, like 
curled locks and ringlets from the head of Innocence. 
As the sun approached the meridian, it:: rays softened 
the snow and ice, which broke loose from their holds 
towards the top, and as they tumbled downward, tore off 
other masses, thus increasing with every leap, until they 
formed "the awful avalanche." At first I heard a noise 
like the rolling of distant thunder, then the confused 
fragments of snow and ice disappeared in a gorge, 
almost like a waterfall. The noise increased until the 
claps of thunder cracked around the cliffs, and rolled 
across the valley, with sounds that carried terror to my 
heart. Far below the avalanche reappeared, fling- 
ing about clouds of ice and snow, until it would be lost 
in the valley, whose deep bed was out of sight. Owing 
to the distance, these avalanches appear comparatively 
small, though in reality very large. 

From here I crossed the pass down into Gruen- 
delwald. Descending the mountain, I met many vendors 
of cheese, strawberries, and milk; and further on, two 
Swiss minstrels with a guitar. There is a simplicity 
and sweetness in the pastoral melodies of Switzerland, 



ALPINE MINSTRELS. 187 

seldom found elsewhere. I have frequently heard and 
admired them from poor, ragged street-singers in 
America. But here were two maidens, neatly clad in 
Swiss costume, in the heart of Swiss scenery, where the 
bells of Alp-herds twinkle musically around them, 
mingling pleasantly with their voices, while before 
them was spread out a rugged scene of mountains and 
valleys, ripe grain fields, and fields of ice. Here I fully 
realized all my former dreams of poetry and song as it 
still exists in its unmixed simplicity on the Alps. Their 
clear ringing voices fully compensated for the muttering 
sounds of their tuneless guitar. " The Swiss Mountain 
Roy" had ever been a favorite with me, but here it had 
charms I had never heard before. I asked for the 
"Schweitzer's Heimweh," and unintertfionially left them 
know that I was from America, upon which they threw 
up their hands with wonder, the one artlessly exclaiming 
to the other as she gazed at me : " Ach Gott, was giebt 
es grosse Leute in Amerika." Though I freely con- 
versed with them in their own tongue, in their simpli- 
city they seemed to forget that I understood them, for 
they would make observations to each other about my 
appearance, which they seemed to regard as an American 
standard. 

The village of Gruendelwald extends for miles up tHe 
mountains and through the valley. The inhabitants 
seem to live entirely from their flocks. Their frame 
dwellings are of a uniform style, with projecting roofs 
running over two, and some over three balconies. One 
side of the house has barely one story above ground, 
while the others have three. Some of the buildings 
have inscriptions in homely verse on the outside front, 



188 GRUENDEI.WALD. 

but not without sense. The following is from the year 
1700, on a dwelling, worn pale by time, but apparently 
not half worn out: 

" I have built my house along this public street, 
And must let fault-finders find fault, and haters hate, 
Though enviers may envy, I put my trust in God, 
The treasures he provides, the wicked ne'er shall rob." 

Gruendelwald can boast of several large glaciers. On 
the wall of the village church is a simple stone which 
marks the grave of an unfortunate clergyman from the 
Canton of Vaud, who, on a visit to one of the glaciers in 
1821, ventured too far on the ice, and fell into a fissure 
one hundred and twenty feet deep. After a labor of 
twelve days, his corpse was taken out and laid on their 
God's acre. • 

The lake of the four Cantons, on whose borders 
is the city of Luzerne, has become celebrated from its 
association with Schiller's Tell. The variety of moun- 
tains which rise abruptly from its banks, imparts to its 
scenery an exceeding grandeur. Our steamer paddling 
around their turns and windings, looked like a puffing 
little bubble beside these giant piles. On one side was 
the Righi, cut off from other mountains, standing out in 
solitary majesty, like a forepost of a strongly fortified king- 
dom. On the other rose the bald Pilatus, whose prickly 
horns and rough uncovered cliffs remind one of a strong 
fortress in shattered ruins. On the left bank of the 
lake is a small village scattered over a sloping valley, 
formed by a depression between two peaks. Though 
containing only about 1,000 inhabitants, it was a free 
and independent State for three hundred years, the 
smallest independent government in the world. It fell 



THE LAKE OF THE FOUR CANTONS. 189 

a victim to the French Revolution of 1798, and now 
forms part of one of the neighboring cantons. Then 
comes Rutli, a little meadow, green with trees and 
herbage, sloping down to the edge of the lake, on which 
on the night of the 8th of November, 1307, thirty-three 
men from three neighboring cantons, formed a solemn 
league, which led to the emancipation of Switzerland 
from the bondage of the house of Hapsburg. On the 
opposite shore is a small chapel on the verge of a steep 
rugged bank, which marks the spot where Tell leaped 
out of Gessler's boat. I passed the deep cut of the road 
beyond the Righi, where, soon after, his deadly arrow 
pierced the heart of the oppressor. Half an hours' walk 
from the end of the lake, is the village of Altorf, where 
formerly stood the linden tree under which Tell's child 
was placed when his father was compelled to shoot an 
apple from his head, at the distance of a hundred yards. 
Before the father, whose bosom heaved with half-sup- 
pressed agony, took his aim with painful ease, he tried 
to calm the mind of his boy by telling him of the joyful 
home beyond the grave, the " land where there are no 
mountains." The reply of the child is beautifully de- 
scriptive of the undying attachment of the Swiss to their 
wild mountains: 

" Father, I'd feel oppressed in that broad land, 
I'd rather dwell beneath the avalanche." 

On my return I stopped at Waggis, from where I 
ascended the Righi. There is but little shade along 
the ascent from this side, so that three hours' climbing 
under a mid-day sun made me feel and appear as most 
persons do, when they labor hard in warm weather. I 






190 ON THE TOP OF THE RIHGI. 

dismissed my garments one after the other, and at last 
hired a boy to carry them, and still I was dripping with 
perspiration. But when I reached the summit, the 
breeze soon made me uncomfortably cold. Fearful that 
the hotel on the top was already crowded, I took lodging 
a half an hours' walk below, at Righi-StafFel. I spent 
several hours on the top. The atmosphere was unusually 
clear, so that I had a full view of the vast world it 
overlooks. * To the south and east were the Alps, 
through whose ridgy-shivered tops I could see into the 
upper snowy valleys, which mortal feet have never trod. 
When the clouds lowered towards evening, these pyramids 
reminded me of the white tents of a large encampment. 
To the north and west is an uninterrupted view from 
sixty t<" eighty miles. The whole looked like a check- 
ered map, the distance dissolved the mountains to a 
level with the plain; the numerous villages were dots 
grouped together among the yellow grain fields, foliage 
and grass ; the lakes, ten in number, glistened like large 
pearls set in this diversified landscape. Suddenly thick 
clouds of fog started up from below, as if they had 
escaped from some cavern in the mountain. They swept 
around us like a sea of vapor,- entirely concealing the 
beautiful world below. Now and then the green 
fields could be seen through a crack or thin web, but 
soon it would close up again, and all was gone. 

Then we heard the rumbling of distant thunder. I 
leisurely repaired toward my lodging to await its ap- 
proach. The heavens seemed to prepare for a grand ef- 
fort. Soon that death-like calm which always precedes 
a, thunder-storm, settled on the mountain. The Alp- 
herds came from all directions toward their sheds, their 



ABOVE A THUNDER STOEM. 191 

bells tinkling softly and sweetly between the claps of 
thunder. Herdsmen strolled after them up the moun- 
tain, singing merrily with ringing voices, as if they felt 
unusually joyful beneath this element of terror. For 
awhile a cloud lingered below us, darting about its flashes 
with terrific splendor. "Above the storm's career" 1 
could watch its progress with composure. The rain fell 
so stream-like that it seemed strange the cloud did not 
empty itself. Then it approached the mountain and 
rolled its black heaps towards the summit. Those above 
lowered until they seemed to approach. Then they flung 
their fiery bolts athwart the heavens and around the 
mountain. Sometimes it seemed bathed in a sea of 
liquid light. The large drops that fell heavily on the 
earth announced their approach, and I regretted that 1 
was compelled to seek shelter from the rain. The gran- 
deur and sublimity of the scene had made me insensible 
to danger. The clouds swept their torrents around and 
over us for several hours in a furious storm. While it 
was ratnny:, travelers continued to arrive. Ladies on 
horseback in a most hapless plight, almost breathless 
from the drenching violent storm. Guides and footmen 
had the appearance of half-drowned men, waving their 
brimless hats and inverted umbrellas as the trophies of 
their severe struggles. While others denounced moun- 
tain climing in general, and that of the Righi in par- 
ticular ; and declared that they never would be caught 
in another thunder-storm on the Alps. 

Our hotel was full of all manner of confusion. Those 
of us who had arrived early, found our beds stripped of 
half their comfort, to cover floors and tables for the 
repose of the later, and le9s fortunate. The following 



192 DESCENDING MOUNTAINS. 

morning all hoped to see the sun rise from the summit, 
but the clouds had not disappeared. Thus our fate was 
that of most other travelers, not to see the splendid sun- 
rise from the Righi. But we saw a thunder-storm, which 
perhaps was still grander. There are few mornings that 
its top is not enveloped in a cloud. The Righi is not so 
much celebrated for its height (5,600 feet) as for its 
unrivalled view, which it owes to its isolated position, 
in one of the most beautiful regions of Switzerland. 
The top is covered with a thick coat of grass, forming 
large pastures. In some places winding terraces and 
paths have been constructed to make them accessible for 
larger cattle, of which it contains four thousand head. I 
descended from the Righi, on the opposite side, in a 
little over an hour. There is usually more of a breeze 
in descending than ascending these mountains. There 
is not much difficulty in getting off; if a person will 
only lift his limbs, the downward pressure will make 
the step for him. It requires a little effort to keep the 
right side up, but even in the event of a tumble, the 
motion will not be much impeded. In descending the 
great St. Bernard, I passed over a field of snow in a 
few minutes, which the day before required an hour of 
the most determined exertion. Every step I made, carried 
me four or five. I found that the best plan in descend- 
ing the Alps, to use a horseman's phrase, is "to draw 
the rubbers, then crack the whip." 

The rocks on and around the Righi are a con- 
glomerate formation, composed of rounded gravel, like 
fragments cemented together by hard, clayish soil. Long- 
heavy rains sometimes penetrate the cement, so that 
large pieces slide off down the mountain. On the Ross- 



THREE VELLAGE8 BURIED. 193 

berg, a short distance south of the Righi, a large slide of 
this kind occurred in 1806. Its long track is still dis- 
tinctly seen. For two years there had been much rain 
along here. On the afternoon of the 5th of September 
the villagers in the valley saw rocks tearing away above 
them. Suddenly the alarm bell rang. Men, women 
and children fled to their sanctuary to pray. The sev- 
ered mountain thundered down three thousand feet into 
the valley, crushed the church and the praying assembly, 
buried three villages, killed five hundred persons, and 
rolled some of its broken massses to the foot of the 
Righi. Part of it slided into lake Lowerz, near by, 
and threw up a continuous wall of water, 70 feet high. 
The scenery of Switzerland must be seen to get a 
elear idea of it. We may know that mountains are 
so many feet high, but have not the faintest conception 
how they look in their majestic reality. As often as I 
looked at Mont Blanc and the Jungfrau — and I viewed 
them for several days — I always felt as though it had 
been the first time. So strange and entirely unlike any- 
thing I had ever dreamed or thought of before, such 
palpable monuments of Almighty Power, that I scarcely 
could credit the possibility of their reality. 

" And as o'er 
The level plain I travel' d silently, 
N earing them more and more day after day, 
My wandering thoughts ray only company, 
And they before me still. Oft as I looked, 
A strange delight, mingled with fear, came o'er me ; 
A wonder as at things I had not heard of! 
Oft as I looked, I felt as though it were 
For the first time." 

A person can seldom get to the highest peak of a 
mountain. Usually you may climb up to the highest 
13 



194 IMPRESSIONS OF ALPINE SCENERY. 

accessible point, and still mountains are around you, 
still high up "hills peep o'er hills, and Alps o'er Alps 
arise." Here I traveled without a companion. As in 
prayer, so in communing with the Creator through his 
works, there are seasons when we prefer to be alone 
with Him. So the Alps seem like a closet sanctuary, 
where it seems so easy and pleasant to walk with God 
when we are alone. What a world of reflection and 
meditation ! Feelings of unrest and longings after the 
spirit-land, after that purity of heart with which we 
shall see God, these crowd upon the soul amid such 
scenes, and produce an impression not easily described. 

" Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where we are at least alone" 

Here one experiences an elevation of spirit in which 
he would gladly remain. Bold rugged mountains robed 
in everlasting snow, while around their base is spread 
cheerful vegetation and fruitful harvests ; the primitive 
undisturbed simplicity of these children of the Alps, 
their faded weather-beaten cottages, the large fields on 
their pastoral mountains, here and there you see 
a musing herdsman seated on a rock, with a hundred 
bells tinkling around him all the day long, while high 
along the steep woodland the grave hunter roams after 
his game. Ah, it is sweet to ponder over such a scene, 
to look at the world from such a point of view. Thus, 
often 

" Where Alpine solitudes ascend 
I sat me down a pensive hour to spend." 

Most charming is a ride from Lausanne to Geneva, 
a long the banks of Lake Leman, especially if enjoyed 



LAKE LEMAN. 195 

on a sunny summer Saturday, filling the mind with 
pure and hopeful images of coming Sabbath peace. 
Seated aside the postillion, I plied him with many a 
question about the country in view, and right cleverly 
did he answer them, emphasizing his little speeches 
with a wave of his long whip, and a crack like the 
report of a pistol. Our road led us by many vineyards 
and charming villas. On the opposite side of the Lake 
the mountains rose majestically heavenward, culmi- 
nating in the snowy crown of Mont Blanc. In between 
lay the unruffled Genevan Sea. 

" Clear placid Leraan ! thy contrasted lake, 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 

Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring." 

At the south-western extremity of the lake the city 
is located; here its waters wildly rush out from their 
confinings through two streams, soon uniting and form- 
ing the river Rhone. 

Switzerland is intimately associated with the history 
of the Reformation. In the Muuster at Basel, a Church 
Council was held as early as 1431, for the "Reformation 
of the church in its head and members." In the same 
building Erasmus is buried. In the Cathedral at Lau- 
sanne a discussion was held in 1536, in which Calvin 
and Farel took a prominent part. And here in Geneva 
Calvin formed a model christian State, which, however, 
seems to have degenerated greatly since his day. Geneva 
has given to the world two men, who have largely 
sown the seed of ideas into the historic field of Europe. 
One helped to organize, the other to disorganize society. 
One who in point of moral heroism and learning had 



196 JOHN CALVIN IN GENEVA. 

but few equals, and endeavored to remove the rubbish 
of ages, which had gathered over the fountain of truth ; 
the other inoculated European society with bad princi- 
ples, hurled a fire-brand into its social ediiice, which at 
one time threatened to put the whole building into a 
blaze. 

In 1530 John Calvin, a native of France, and more 
recently a fugitive from Paris, came to Geneva. He, 
united with Farel, at the time the leading Reformer 
in Geneva, denounced the corruptions of the Catholic 
Church. Through his writings and sermons he soon 
attained to great influence. From the pulpit of St. 
Peters, which is still here, he fearlessly hurled his 
denunciations at the corruptions of the Papacy. His 
church polity which he introduced into Geneva, and his 
system of theology, have become interwoven with the 
tissue of Protestantism, and have given complexion to 
our American institutions. The house in which he 
lived and died, is still here. He requested that no 
tombstone should mark his grave, so that his last resting 
place can no longer be distinguished. Not far from 
where I am writing, is the house in which Rosseau was 
born. 

" Here the self-torturing .sophist, 
The apostle of affliction, he who threw 
Enchantment over passion, and from woe 
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
The breath which made him wretched." 

He was the son of a clock-maker, tied from Geneva 
from fear of his teacher, in his 16th year, died in 
misery, 1778, near Paris. His writings embodied 
principles which strewed moral poisun into the hearths 



THE CITY OF GENEVA. 197 

of Europe. They kindled in the human heart the fires 
of hell. From this fountain flowed the enormities of 
the French Revolution. Its deadly virus still courses 
through the veins of European philosophy, in spite of 
the many efforts to throw it off. 

Geneva is situated on the banks of the lake of the 
same name, with 31 ,000 inhabitants, of which over 
9,000 are Catholics. It has been praised by travelers 
from every clime. From the lake the view is charming. 
Along its banks are scattered the country seats of wealthy 
Genevans, for it is reputed to have fifty millionaires. 
The farms along the lake, improved with the most taste- 
ful care,. are pictures of rural comfort. In the rear of 
the rising fertile country, which skirts its banks, are 
chains of mountains, to which at one time the lake 
perhaps extended. Towards the east Mont Blanc, 
sixty miles distant, raises its proud summit, like a fleecy 
cloud, high above its fellows. Of a moonlight night, 
and I was fortunate enough to \i;et here at this season, 
its spotless drapery of eternal snow contrasts pleasantly 
with the rough dark outline of inferior mountains. Its 
white majestic form rises out of the earth, like some 
dread unearthly being, crowned with a halo of light 
peering over the boundary of eternity, into the darkness 
of a sin-cursed earth. Immediately to the south is 
the hill on which Servetus was executed for heresy, a 
bloody page in the early history of Protestant Geneva. 

Were Calvin to rise from his unknown grave, he 
would thrust his scalpel as unsparingly into the cor- 
ruption and Sabbath desecration of Geneva, as he onee 
did into the sores of the Papacy. In this respect 
Geneva is infinitely behind Edinburg, the city of John 
Knox, 



198 SUNDAY IN GENEVA. 

Early of a Sunday morning loaded carts and wagons 
rattled through the streets, mechanics plied their tools, 
carpenters their planes, only with a little less noise and 
publicity than the day before. During the morning 
more than 500 laborers were assembled on the market 
place, for I don't know what purpose, with their 
scythes and hoes on their shoulders. Half of the 
persons on the streets were in their work-day clothes. 
Some stores were closed, others had one shutter closed. 
Shops and drinking saloons did an extensive business. 
The churches in which I worshipped were slimly 
attended. One was not half filled, the other congre- 
gations consisted chiefly of females. Evidently church- 
goers are here far in the minority. In some of the 
other Cantons of Switzerland it is far different. Basel 
has a quiet orderly Sabbath. In the Canton of Berne 
all labor and Sabbath desecration of every kind is strictly 
prohibited. 

One who has been accustomed to enjoy the sacred 
stillness of an American Sabbath, is very unfavorably 
impressed by the manner in which it is observed on the 
Continent. Christians may differ in some points on 
this subject. Whether they should attend public worship 
the whole day, or spend part of it in reading and reflec- 
tion; or whether a Christian may not even walk into 
the woods or fields on a Sabbath afternoon and evening, 
to engage in meditation or religious conversation, are 
questions about which even good men may differ. But 
it ceases to be the hallowed day of the Lord to us, 
when w r e spend it in sensual enjoyments, in bargain 
and sale. 



CHAPTER XI 



MARTIGNY. ST. BERNARD. CHAMOUNY. ZURICH. 
CONSTANCE. SCHAFFHAUSEN. A CLERICAL CON- 
FERENCE. THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE SWISS 
PASTORAL CONFERENCE. THE RHINE FALL. 
HISTORY AND NATIONAL PECULIARITIES 
OF SWITZERLAND. 



I approached Geneva from Lausanne by diligence, 
along the picturesque banks of its Lake, and left by 
steamer for Villeneuve, at the eastern end of it. On the 
roof of a clumsy diligence I continued my journey 
toward Martigny. This awkward seat afforded a definite 
and extensive view of the grand scenery along the way. 
Leaving my scanty luggage at the village hotel, I started 
for an ascent of the great St. Bernard. In the Convent 
on its summit, 1 penned the following impressions: 

At length I am enabled to hail from the summit of 
my wanderings, the highest human habitation in Europe, 
7,550 feet above the level of the sea. But in this world 
of ups and downs, or, to use a more scientific expres- 
sion, of diurnal revolutions, high and low are but relative 
terms. It is even geographically true that the high are 
brought low, and the low are exalted from day to day. 
So that while I labored hard to climb up here, I was 
soon after whirled to the lower parts of the earth again, 
below one-half of my fellow beings. I started from 
Martigny yesterday morning at 4 o'clock, and reached 

199 



200 AJSCENDING THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. 

here at 4 p. m. The road wound through a succession 
of valleys, bounded by mountains, into which the sun 
did not shine until it was three hours' high. At one 
place the road was tunnelled through the corner of the 
mountain, on which rested a lofty mass of superin- 
cumbent rocks, unsupported by props or arches. At the 
lower end of the valley the farmers were busy reaping 
their harvests, but as the road ascended, the harvest 
became less ripe. Gradually I came into the region 
where there was nothing but grass, scant and scarcely 
fit to mow, and finally to where there was neither grain 
nor grass, only here and there a green spot along the 
steep mountain, on which small flocks of goats were 
clambering for a living. High up along the mountains 
are small villages, perched here and there along steep 
and dizzy heights. They look as if the smallest force 
could start them rolling down into the deep valley 

Farmers can use no sort of wagons. They convey 
their produce home on mules, and those little Alpine 
indispensables, donkeys. I met with large moving 
bales of hay yesterday, which I at first thought were on 
wagons, until I discovered legs under them instead of 
wheels. 

The scenery is such as ran only be found in Switzer- 
land. The mountains are high, rough and abounding 
ip abrupt changes. At Orsienes, about one-third of 
the distance, the view opens upon the snow-clad cliffs 
of Mont Velan, whose prickly tops look as if they 
might have trickled through fissures in the ceiling of 
the universe. Here the road to St. Bernard winds 
to the right into another valley, through which it rises 
rapidly. Passing through this I found it intensely 



A H1L.L OF THFFHrT,TV. 201 

hot. The burning sun beat upon the smooth treeless 
mountain side, with no branch or brushwood for a shelter, 
while the cold, glistening snow looked down from the 
summit, as if to mock the quick throbs of my palpita- 
ting heart. I rested in several villages along the road, 
but had not much time to lose. After I had left the 
last village, most probably the "Alpine village" in 
Longfel low's "Excelsior," 1 passed along a forest of 
meagre, stunted pine, and after that no shrub, living or 
dead, was found any more. When I reached the last steep 
ascent of the mountain, I fell in with a New School 
Presbyterian brother from Philadelphia, who was on a 
mule, with a guide. I had neither. To have made this 
ascent in the morning, might have been comparatively 
easy, but after coming over twenty-five miles up hill 
through the hot sun, it was by no means an easy task. 
I got along pretty well, until 1 reached the region of 
snow and ice, about a mile and a half from the summit. 
The ascent became steep, the snow-paths soft and 
unbeaten, and worse than all, the atmosphere became so 
rare, that the least exertion would set me panting for 
breath. Over the last mile I had to rest every few 
rods to take breath, and then could with difficulty get 
along. When I reached the to]) J found it cool enough, 
but a comfortable fire on the hearth, and a table spread 
with a variety of refreshments, together with the many 
marks of sympathy and kindness from the fathers of 
the Convent, soon dispelled all my fatigue. And a 
refreshing night's rest in a bed and room over 6,000 
feet higher than the one I had the night before, has 
restored me to my usual buoyancy of body and spirit. 
One hundred years before the Christian Era, the 



202 THE PASS OF ST. BERNARD. 

Romans already crossed the Alps along this road 
through the pass of St. Bernard, and as such it has been 
used ever since. In 1800, Napoleon Bonaparte crossed 
through here into Italy with an army of 30,000 men, 
with much difficulty and labor. Through the winter its 
passage has always been attended with much danger, on 
account of the prevalence of snow-storms and severe 
cold. This induced St. Bernard of Menthon to found a 
Convent in this pass on the summit, in 962, for the 
relief of travelers and others who are in distress. He 
made it the constant duty of its inmates, from ten to 
fifteen monks belonging to the order of St. Augustine, 
and servants, gratuitously to accommodate and nurse- 
travelers, and during the snowy seasons, which here 
continue at least nine months in the year, to search the dif- 
ferent mountain paths to rescue the needy and distressed. 
Basides these the aged and infirm always find an asylum 
here. The establishment is supported at a great expense 
by contributions from France, Italy and Switzerland, 
and what little travelers may drop into the charity box. 
No regular pay is received from any person. They 
spread a good table, and have comfortable beds and 
rooms for all the visitors and travelers through here, 
which during the summer are numerous. All the pro- 
vision must be brought up from the valleys below. 
The monks have a little garden in which they some- 
times raise a few stunted vegetables towards the end of 
summer, but not without much care and labor. Some- 
times the thermometer falls below zero in August. 
Their firewood must be brought on horses and mules 
ten miles up the mountain, and to lay in a stock for 
one year, employs twenty of these animals for three 
months. 



THE CONVENT OF ST. BERNARD. 203 

From November until May a trusty servant and one 
ot the monks daily descend half way down the mountain 
in search of perishing travelers, whom they nurse and cure 
their frozen limbs in their asylum. And often their large 
St. Bernard dogs go out alone with provision baskets 
hung to their , necks in search of the distressed. Many 
a half-starved, half-frozen traveler has been scraped out 
of the snow, and received meat and drink, through the 
kindness of these noble animals. They seem to be con- 
stantly on the look-out for an errand of mercy. 

The scenery of St. Bernard, though praised by many, 
has little to commend it. 

" Oh solitude, where are thy charms, 
Which Sages have seen in thy fe.ce." 

And such a solitude ! A dread sterile world of rocks, with 
neither tree nor plant to relieve its barren aspect. The 
view is hemmed in all around by high rocky peaks, as bare 
and bald as the walls of the Convent. With no human 
habitation in view, not a* glimpse of the living busy 
world below, where the weary eye can see nothing but 
the bald rocks, the snow and the heavens. And yet there 
is one star which twinkles with inviting cheerfulness 
into this night of desert desolation. Let a man climb 
thirty miles through a burning sun and sultry atmos- 
phere up this ascent, and reach the summit at the point 
of exhaustion, and then after suddenly getting into this 
region of winter, sit down by the crackling hearth, 
"glowing warm and bright," and receive the cordials, 
refreshments, and words of cheerful sympathy from 
these "good Samaritans," and let him witness their 
kindness to the old and infirm, and he will find some- 
thing here, which many a Jew and Levite, though of 



204 Longfellow's excelsior. 

greater pretensions, fail to impart. This is the only 
green plant on this bleak summit, which makes its 
dreariness glad, this wilderness blossom as the rose; a 
plant of living, fruit-bearing charity. These men of 
very snperior intelligence spend the noon and evening 
of their days in a state of total self-forgetfulness, and 
often amid circumstances of severest trial, in acts of 
unrequited mercy. We need not be ashamed to pay a 
tribute of grateful esteem to their deeds of kindness. 
Their register contains the record of many a thankful 
heart, by Jew and Gentile, bond and free, who have 
had the happiness of feeling the genial warmth of their 
hearth. 

A person cannot help but recognize along this route 
the scene of Longfellow's Excelsior. Far below, on the 
verge of vegetation and sterile rocks, is the " Alpine 
village." Then a small forest of pine trees, where 
many a "withered branch" can be seen. Far below " thp 
roaring torrent, deep and wMe," tumbles wildly along, 
parallel with the footpath. "The twilight cold and 
gray," piercingly cold even in mid-summer, "the faith- 
ful hound," bounding in all directions over these bleak 
rocks after objects of mercy. And then this morning 
the early devotions of the monks brought the whole 
scene with vivid pleasure before my mind. 

" At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of St. Bernard 
Utter' d their oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior.'' 

At Martigny I made my headquarters for a week. 
The inhabitants of this part of Switzerland nearly all 



THE COL DE BALME. 205 

belong to the laboring classes, and most of them laboring 
very hard. Their language is a mixture. The body 
is French, but the woof is inwrought with fragments of 
Latin and German, and so unlike either, that a knowl- 
edge of the three is scarcely sufficient to understand it. 
The following day I proceeded to Chamouny, over the 
Col de Balme. The first three hours' walk the road 
steeply ascended through a rough valley, partly culti- 
vated, then again descended for a short distance, and 
from here ascended three hours again up the mountain. 
At first awhile the path wound along its shady sides in 
zigzag style, which finally entered large pastures covered 
with soft, thick grass, over which herdsmen and their 
flocks were scattered. Its topmost cone, 7,000 feet 
high, was clad with snow and vegetation. I plucked 
large Alp-violets on the borders of the snow-bank as 
memorials. The summit of the Col de Balme com- 
mands an excellent view of Mont Blanc. But its 
crown is so frequently veiled with a cloud, that few can 
enjoy the view. For a few moments the king of 
European mountains stood out before me in all his 
white, dazzling majesty, then thick clouds rolled up from 
below, and swept around me such a night-like darkness, 
that I could see my path down but a few paces ahead. 
Soon I got below the clouds again, and in a few hours 
reached Chamouny. 

Chamouny valley is celebrated for its large glaciers. 
Seven of these ice-rivers slowly slide their large blocks 
down from Mont Blanc towards the valley. The origin 
of these glaciers, and their influence upon the earth's 
surface, is extremly interesting. The region of ice and 
snow begins at 8,000 feet above the level of the sea. 



206 CHAMOUNY. 

From here upwards it never rains. The cloud-deposites 
are in the form of granular snow, which in these cold 
heighths have accumulated their everlasting masses for 
thousands of years. Along the border of the melting 
temperature, large quantities of ice are found. In the 
day time the sun and atmosphere melt the snow ; after 
night it freezes into ice, with which the falling snow 
again combines. The masses are pressed down the 
mountain side through gorges and ravines, thus forming 
the glaciers. They look like frozen mountain rivers, 
whose tumbling torrents were instantaneously converted 
into ice by a sudden change of the temperature. Some 
are from ten to fifteen hundred feet deep. They are 
broken up into blocks, separated by large fissures, 
which, from a distance, look like frozen waterfalls and 
ice-waves. The streams move imperceptibly slow. 
Some of them only from one to two feet per day. I 
believe Agassiz ascribes their motion to the expansion of 
the glacier, occasioned by the falling snow and rain, 
and the trickling of water, melting away from the ice 
into the fissures, where it freezes again. It is difficult 
to see what becomes of the immense masses gorging in 
above, when the stream moves so slowly. Doubtless 
the action of the sun and the atmosphere consume 
much, but it seems impossible that it should amount to 
such a quantity. Every glacier has a stream at its base, 
through which its meltings rush away. Some of the 
largest rivers of Europe, the Rhone and others, have 
their origin in glaciers. They exert a great influ- 
ence upon the earth's surface. Their crushing masses, 
with their tremendous lateral piessure, plough up high 
banks along their course, tear up rocks, and push them 



THE GLACIERS. 207 

up steep mountains, until they tumble back on the 
bosom of the stream. I met with many large furrows 
of extinct glaciers, running far down into the valleys, 
whose tracks were strewn with huge boulders. Many 
a geological phenomenon may one day be shown to have 
originated from the action of glaciers or the motion of 
ice in some other form. 

From Chamouny I ascended Montavert, which 
commands a view of the Mer-de-Glace, a large lake of 
ice, into which Mont Blanc pushes its discharges. 
Hedged in by the lofty cliffs of surrounding mountains, 
between which its blueish, rough surface extends for six 
miles, it slowly and heavily pushes its contents down 
through the glacier Des Bois towards the valley. The 
stream carried on its surface large boulders. Its slow 
motion produces a singularly cracking and tumbling- 
noise. I walked along its edge, but had no inclination 
to accept the offers of a guide, who wished to lead me 
across its rough surface to the other side. Directly 
opposite, the huge peaks and rough pyramids of 
Mont Blanc pierced the clouds from their untrodden 
heights. After descending, I entered a peasant's cot- 
tage, where I procured refreshments, such as his flocks 
afforded, and surveyed the arrangement of a farmer's 
house in Chamouny. Thence I ascended the Flegere, 
which affords a view of the whole chain of Mont Blanc 
from the summit to its base. During the ascent I was 
forcibly reminded of Bunyan's Hill of Difficulty. At 
first the steep path wound over the rough boulder-covered 
track of an extinct glacier, on which the afternoon sun 
beat most fervently. Here and there a fresh, limpid 
spring welled out of the mountain, whose quickening 



208 A VIEW OF MONT BLANC 

waters were a striking emblem, both in appearance and 
effect, of the Water of Life. Then the path entered a 
dense pine forest, and winded through the most grateful 
shade. As I asended, the bracing, rarefied atmosphere 
diminished the weariness of exertion, and when 1 
reached the top, I felt far less fatigued than when I 
started from the base. Even so it is with the Christian's 
ascent of the sacred mountain — the mountain of God's 
holiness. Often he must press upwards, under severe 
difficulties, over a steep and rugged path, but here and 
there springs of Grace well out of Zion, with which he 
laves his weary limbs. Passing through special over- 
shadowings of God's pavilion, and rising above the 
world of sense and sin, he feasts in pleasant places, while 
the pure, celestial atmosphere of divine communion 
diminishes his weakness as he approaches the summit. 
And this, too, commands a view of the valley below, u a 
vale of tears." But above all tears shall be wiped 
away. 

" Then let your songs abound, 

And let your tears be dry, 
We're marching through Imnianuel's ground 

To fairer worlds on high." 

From here Mont Blanc stood before me nearly 
15,000 feet high, in all its uncovered snow-crested 
glory. Along the summit were deep valleys filled with 
the snow of a thousand years. Far below the falling 
snow and rain, mingled with their gradual meltings, 
gorged downward through rough passes into the glaciers, 
whose arms hung down to the base, and looked as if a 
breath of air might break their brittle hold, and start 
them rushing upon the world below. I spent the night 



A WILD MOUNTAIN ROAD. 209 

in a village in the upper end of the valley. The sun 
lingered around the white crown of Mont Blanc, long 
after the dusky twilight had settled into the narrow 
valley below. From this threshold of night I watched 
the flickering glow of glory playing over its pure dra- 
pery — then I thought of the mountains of old, which 
the presence of the Lord made so brilliantly glorious 
that mortal eyes could not behold them. The light of 
the sun faded into twilight, and soon darkness crept 
around its breast; the stars hung tremblingly around 
those white airy cones and peaks, and night clinging 
around its snowless base, seemed to sever its white-crested 
drapery from the earth, while its hazy light hung in the 
heavens like the "milky way." 

I returned to Martigny over the Tete-Noire, a route 
that leads through gorges and passes fearfully dark and 
wild. After I reached its summit, marked with a cross, 
the road led through a barren waste on which former 
glaciers had left their rolling rocks. It was the picture 
of a most desolate solitude. When I had passed a small 
village, where peasants, men and women, were already 
busy mowing grass, for I had started early, the valley 
became narrow, and the dark, high, pine-clad mountain 
hung overhead around it, like a canopy of gloom to keep 
out the rising cheerfulness of daylight. If the Swiss Alps 
were infested by robbers, one would expect to meet them 
here; and formerly, it is said, a clan had their abode in 
this region. The road passes along a steep mountain, 
and seems to hang over a wild, roaring stream, many 
hundred feet below. It requires a strong faith in the 
firmness of the rocks, to pass over some of these airy 
roads with a steady nerve. I reached Martignv at 
14 



210 THE SWISS MOUNTAINEERS. 

noon, where, after such a week's experience, I enjoyed 
the following day of rest with peculiar delight. To a 
person unaccustomed to worship God amid such monu- 
mental temples of nature, there is an unusual solemnity 
in divine services among the Alps. Here the eye can 
not wander over the wide world of sin. In whatever 
direction you look, it must glance upward. And if the 
heart is right toward God, it will follow the eye. Its 
affections and desires will become elevated. It will 
look thankfully and believingly to "the Hill, whence 
all our help cometh." 

This grand little village is in the heart of Switzerland, 
nestled deep down between high mountains. After mov- 
ing about among the hard-working mountaineers, I must 
spend a Lord's day with them. In truth, in the sweat 
of their brow these hardy Swiss must eat their bread. 
Women swinging the heavy scythe in their meadowy 
mountain glens, bearing large bales of grass on their 
heads; the men grubbing around every available spot 
of shallow earth on the steep mountain side, — whither 
they must bear the manure, and whence they gladly 
carry their harvest home, the mountain paths being 
impassable for wagons. So work the Swiss. A hard- 
worked, yet withal a cheerful race. 

"Though poor the peasant's hut. his feasts though small. 

He sees his little lot, the lot of all. 

Sees no contiguous palace rear its head 

To shame the meanness of his humble shed ; 

No costly lord, the sumptuous banquet deal 

To make him loathe his vegetable meal. 

Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 

Breathes the keen air and carols as he goes.*' 

Martingny is a Catholic village. Its people all 
worship in one church; a plain, solid old building, with 



MAKTIGNY. 211 

dingy walls and dusty windows, and a quaint belfry, 
and worshippers given to quaint fashions. At six in 
the morning the church-bell already rang for services, and 
down the narrow valleys that centre here, many persons 
wended their way to the house of prayer. Thereafter, 
at certain intervals, a half dozen other services were 
held during the day. The chief of them were those 
held at 10 a. m., and at the close of day. Then came 
the people from all the mountain country round about. 
Herdsmen left their cattle and shepherds their flocks 
grazing on the mountain-tops, to spend a sacred hour 
in the vale below. Milkmaids, with cheeks as red as 
the ribbons bordering their picturesque bonnets, and 
venerable matrons, stiff with life's labor, and stooping 
beneath the burdens of age, and athletic young men, as 
nobly formed as the Swiss body-guard of Pius IX. 
These all I scanned with pleasing interest, coming 
down the steep and tortuous mountain paths, and 
through the winding valleys. Not a man entered the 
sacred building with hat on. The church was crowded 
back to the door. Not a whisper was heard, save the 
low, muttering voice of the officiating priest, until the 
congregation sang; then all voices joined; voices un- 
trained by art, yet sweetly blending the notes of praise. 

All the women, save the old ones, wore low-crowned, 
narrow-brimmed straw-bonnets, fringed with gilt-bor- 
dered, black, red, blue or pink lace. These odd hats 
seen from the church-door, gave the congregation quite 
a military appearance. 

To me it was a marvel where all these people came 
from. The valleys scarcely half a mile wide, the 
village very small, with here and there a small hamlet 



'2l'l SUNDAY AT MARTIGNY. 

clinging to the mountain side; at best this mountain- 
world can support but few people. But these few in 
their own way, seem to feel their dependence upon God. 
All came afoot; some a distance of six or eight miles, 
over roads which would make the knees and nerves 
of American church-goers quake. Not a carriage or beast 
of burden was seen around that church. 

Somehow I took kindly to these simple peasant 
people of Martigny, and they to me. Tenderly I 
ragarded them at their hard work and devout worship. 

With joy I remember this Sabbath day at Martigny. 
No sound nor sight marred its cheerful elevating repose, 
The travelers at the hotels seemed subdued. The toil- 
ing mountain people seemed so grateful for a day of 
rest. The very dogs on the streets seemed instinctively 
to catch the Sabbatic spell, and the cattle on the hills 
seemed to low less, so as not to disturb the worshippers 
in the vale. 

The mountains, dressed with waving pine, looked 
benignantly down upon us, themselves preaching- 
lessons of peace. As thev rose, thousands of feet above 
this narrow valley, I could easily realize that as they 
were around us, so God was round about His people — 
around us, too. So silent, yet so grand; so rugged, 
yet so pleasing to behold; so little one feels, looking up 
to them, yet so peaceful. 

Switzerland is a country of mysteries. Her moun- 
tains and her history are full of contrasts and contra- 
dictions, combined with unity and order. Had we but 
a descriptive revelation of her geological convulsions, 
an explanation of the contortions and incongruous for- 
mation of her rocks, a panoramic view of the wounds 



THE DEATH OF ZWINGLI NEAR CAPPEL. 213 

and gashes, which here our globe once received, of 
which these mountains are but the scars and scabs. 
Aye, this would make a readable book, which might 
give us a taint idea of the boiling terror of that geological 
finale, when "the earth shall melt with fervent heat." 
Switzerland has her social mysteries, too, her political 
contrasts. Here are twenty-two Cantons, with a history 
of convulsions and collisions, at one time fighting with 
prowess against their common enemy, at another fight- 
ing with equal bravery among themselves, and then 
different parties or religions of the same Canton waging 
destructive war with each other, and all the while 
remaining members of the Swiss Confederacy, a united 
independent Republic, that stands out in bold promi- 
nence against the Monarchies of Europe. And then 
the unremitting friction between Protestants and Papists, 
with all their bitter rankling memories and bloody 
antecedents, each eyeing the other with sleepless vigi- 
lance and jealousy. These, indeed, would seem to 
furnish very incongruous material for a Republic, and 
yet you find a national harmony here seldom found 
elsewhere. Her history has its mountains, too, the scars 
and scabs of former wounds, which a slight scratch will 
irritate, and after a brief* inflammation, will heal up 
again. 

The Swiss have ever shown too great an eagerness 
to decide their difficulties with the sword. Here we 
have the only instance, where a prominent Reformer 
saw fit to resort to carnal weapons in defence of truth. 
A few days ago I passed the spot, near Cappel, where 
Zwingli fell on the field of battle. The Protestants 
were led on by the Reformer himself, who, after he was 



214 UNBELIEF IN SWITZERLAND. 

fatally wounded, continued to admonish his army to 
fight valiantly for the truth. A small monument 
marks the spot, where a papal soldier found him welter- 
ing in his blood, and pierced him with his sword, 
because he refused to pray to the Virgin Mary. The 
Catholic population of Switzerland is about one-third 
less than the Protestant. The former seem to increase 
more rapidly, as they always adhere very tenaciously 
to their religion. In the Canton of Geneva they are 
said to have increased rapidly within late years. This 
may be partly accounted for by the fact, that the Canton 
is almost surrounded by papal States, especially France 
and Savoy. The strength and consistency of Protestant- 
ism in Switzerland has been impaired by the spread of 
Rationalism. Here this system has struck deeper and 
more abiding root than in some of the more northern 
countries. Some of the hymn books are dilutions of 
the baldest Rationalism. The good old German hymns 
have been stripped of all their positive unction, in 
which we can only discern the defaced fragments of 
their former beauty. 

The Canton of Zurich clearly indicated its religious 
tendencies in the election of Dr. Straus, the Coryphaeus 
of Rationalism, to the theological professorship of its 
University. Though this occurred in 1839, soon after 
he had written his "Life of Jesus," the commotion 
which it occasioned is still fresh in the memory of 
Swiss Protestants. He was elected and called by the 
representatives of the people. But after they had taken 
the step, a large number of the more evangelical party 
remonstrated through meetings and otherwise. When 
this would not answer, an army of peasants led by a 



CHURCH AND STATE. 215 

country pastor, and armed with scythes and hoes, 
marched to Zurich to try their old method of settling 
disputes. They sternly demanded that the call of 
Straus should be revoked; the Council had to yield, but 
was obliged to give him his promised salary. So that 
while -Dr. Straus lived in the shades of retirement in 
Heidelberg, he received a salary of 1000 florins per 
annum, from the' University of Zurich, for services 
which he never rendered. 

But this very occurrence, terminating in a triumph 
of the Evangelical party, is a proof of the predominance 
of positive Christianity among the masses. The nega- 
tive religion only prevails to this extent in some of 
the Cantons. In most of them the friends of Bible 
truth show a disposition to rally in its favor. Basel is 
most decidedly Evangelical. It exhibits signs of a 
remarkable spiritual energy. I have been told by 
Divines from the extreme north of Germany, that the 
influence of Basel has extended to their field of labor; 
that its leaven has been graciously felt over the whole 
territory of German Protestantism. 

The union between Church and State frequently 
encumbers and impedes the healthful development of 
their religious life. Every Canton seems to constitute a 
little Church in itself, whose civil council is the highest 
judicatory of Church and State. So it has been since 
the Reformation. Pastors, most generally, are not called 
by the congregations, but distributed by the Govern- 
ment. No congregation can discipline a transgressor 
beyond admonition. After that, the State will punish 
him by imprisonment or otherwise. Legislatures may 
be amply competent to attend to the affairs of the State, 
but seldom to those of the Church. 



216 THE CITY OF ZURICH. 

The lake-cities of Switzerland have a scenery pecu- 
liarly their own. Lausanne, Geneva, Yew, Luzerne, 
Zurich, are places which a person will not soon forget. 
The last always seems the prettiest. .Still it seems 
to me Zurich surpasses them all. It is the Boston 
of Switzerland, the metropolis of science. It has many 
virtues and vices, passions and prejudices in common 
with the American metropolis. It seems to be the 
Swiss battle-field of Mind, where Truth and Error 
have often grappled in deadly conflict. Like the Puri- 
tan city, it has its unbeliefs, or belief in negatives, 
instead of faith in the truth. 

Zurich is scattered along both sides of the Limmet 
and along the borders of its lake, where its clear, blue, 
waters empty into this stream. Some of the old ram- 
parts of the city have been converted into elevated 
promenades, which command a view of its surroundings. 
It is remarkably quiet for a German city, and its 
domestic and public affairs are managed with precision 
and ease. One can readily perceive that their enjoy- 
ments are predominantly intellectual. 

From Zurich northward, the scenery becomes less 
grand and picturesque. Constance, situated on a lake 
of the same name, is surrounded with a flat, monotonous 
country. It is a town of historical importance, from its 
connection with the early history of the Reformation. 
The Muenster is built over the old subterranean chapel, 
where the persecuted Christians of the early Church 
were compelled to hold their worship under the earth. 
Its damp, dismal aisles would possess little attraction 
for Christians of the 19th century. In the upper pari 
of the church a large stone in the pavement is pointed 



THE SWISS PASTORAL CONFERENCE. 217 

out where Huss stood, when he was tried and con- 
demned by the Council. The old Dominican Convent, 
the place of his imprisonment, is on a little island 
in the lake. I entered a small, dark dungeon in the 
old Muenster, in which he spent his last night, a place 
hideously gloomy. A short distance out of the city 
is a small meadow, now planted with fruit trees, where 
Huss and Jerome of Prague were burned. 

The ministerial Association of Switzerland held 
its annual meeting in Schaffhausen, on the 5th and 
6th of August. The attendance was large, and the 
discussions were marked with ability and clearness. 
The theme of discussion for the first day was, " What 
position should fhe Swiss Church assume toward the 
confessional controversies of the Evangelical Church 
of Germany?" It was opened with an essay by pastor 
Beck, in which he defined the causes and nature of 
the difficulties which at present harass German Pro- 
testantism, and their relation to the German and Swiss 
Reformed Churches. The Protestant Church of Ger- 
many includes four leading denominations; the Evangeli- 
cal, composed of a union of Lutheran and Reformed ; the 
Lutheran, Reformed and Moravians. The Evangelical 
Church originated from a desire to diminish dissention 
and strife, and especially to reunite the two leading 
branches of German Protestantism in a third Church, 
combining in itself the good and essential of both. 
Many congregations and ministers rejoicingly flocked 
into the Union as a means of restoring peace to the 
fold of Christ. But instead of this it seems to have 
increased the confusion, and as many Lutherans and 
Reformed refused to enter into this Union, it added 






21 K TTTF PROTESTANT CfttJRCftBB OF FJTROPE. 

one more party to the divided body of the Redeemer. 
The German Reformed Church seems to have yielded 
to this Union most readily. But those who remained 
firm in their old relations, are frequently persecuted 
by both the other Churches. By the Evangelical for 
refusing to enter the Union, by the Lutherans for 
refusing to become Lutherans. For many of the Lu- 
therans here are exceedingly ultra. These, however, 
are only a party in the Church. She also has many 
liberal-minded men, who can see Christianity beyond 
Lutheran ism. An instance was given, where a Lu- 
theran minister refused to give the Communion to his 
wife, because she was a member of the Reformed 
Church. These circumstances push the latter into some 
very uncomfortable straits, and force upon them the 
question, what position to assume towards the other 
Churches. The Swiss Reformed Church has hitherto 
been little affected by these controversies, because there 
is in) other Protestant denomination in Switzerland. 
Rut she cannot be insensible to the wants and trials 
of her sister Church, for whose comfort, as well as for 
the instruction of her own members, this discussion took 
place. Pastor Goebel and Dr. Herzog, publisher of 
the Real Encyclopedia, both of Erlangen, were the 
representatives of the German Reformed Church. They 
desired an expression of sympathy, and a word of 
advice. Both were given, if not by formal resolutions, 
at least in substance. Prof. Hagenbach, from Basel, 
author of a popular Church History, was the only 
speaker who advised them to become Evangelical. All 
the addresses urged upoil them the exercise of mildness 
and charity; rather to endure wrong, than to do wrong, 



SCTERSTITION IN SWITZERLAND. 219 

to do good to those who hate and persecute them, of which 
Calvin furnished a striking example. u Luther calls 
me a devil, but I will still call him a child of God." 

The theme of discussion for the second day were 
"the forms and causes of superstition in Switzerland, 
and the method of suppressing it." 

Rev. S. Preiswerk, from Basel, opened the dis- 
mission with a lengthy address, from which it appeared 
that many queer and superstitious notions are still 
cherished by the masses. The speaker remarked that 
an advance in the line of superstition were the moving 
tables, which of late years hopped over from America. 
Tt seems that delusion has found a considerable foot- 
hold in some parts of Switzerland, and that in its most 
extravagant forms. In Geneva a society of spiritualists 
has been formed, extending also into France, who 
profess to have direct communion with the Saviour. 
They have published letters which purport to have been 
dictated by Him, and claim to be the honored organs 
through which He will prepare the Church for His 
second coining. Expecting that their cause would be 
canvassed at Schaffhausen, they transmitted several 
long communications to the Assembly, explanatory of 
their faith, and the phenomena that occurred during 
their short history. 

The most general view of the speakers seemed to 
define the cause of superstition as a want of faith in a 
personal God. It impels men to seek deliverance from 
danger of ghosts and phantoms. Tt exists not only 
in its crude and repulsive forms, but by a poetical 
refinement will insinuate itself into our holiest services 
in the disguise of an awful reverence and faith. We 



'220 THE FEAST AFTER THE CONFERENCE. 

cannot conquer it by unreasonable assertions and denials, 
not even always by argument or explanation, as in 
the case of spiritualism. The ignorant, most given to 
superstition, are not always susceptible of conviction 
by arguments. The only antidote is the cultivation of 
faith in a personal God, " in whom we live, and move, 
and have our being," and in a pergonal Saviour, for whose 
sake our Father will extend the wings of His unremit- 
ting mercy and protection over His children. When 
the sun arises, the night will disappear of itself, but 
no other power can dispel the darkness. " Faith comet h 
bv hearing" the word of God. Diffuse the light of the 
word, steep the soul in the " fountain" of the Gospel, 
" lift up the gates" of the heart, and " the King of glory 
will come in." 

After the exercises of the first day had terminated, the 
association collectively dined in a large hall, where 
refreshments were served for body and spirit. And 
after such a long session of about seven hours, the 
bodily wants of the brethren prepared them to discuss 
more agreeable themes than the confessional strifes of 
Christians. At the close came two poems by way of 
dessert. One from a brother of Basel, written in the 
Swiss dialect, sparkling with pious wit. It was an 
appropriate greeting to Schaffhausen, in which he 
alluded to its firmness in the faith during the trials of 
the Reformation, and the more recent storms of modern 
Infidelity. The other was a welcome from Schaffhausen 
to the association. The whole was a bodily and intel- 
lectual feast, in a Christian sense. 

From here the Association proceeded to the Rhine- 
fall, about two miles from Schaffhausen. The Rhine is 



THE RHINE-FALL. 221 

here about 300 feet wide, and for a considerable distance 
above the fall boils and tumbles over rocks with great 
commotion. The fall proper is about 60 feet high, 
but is interrupted by several high rocks, breaking 
the current, in its grand leap, into rolling heaps of snowy 
foam which send up clouds of spray. We spent the 
evening on the terrace of a neighboring hotel. After 
night the rough outlines around the fall could be dimly 
distinguished. Immediately below, on the right bank, 
were two furnaces in full blast, whose chimneys flung 
around them thick drops of fire, which shed a spectral 
glare on the roaring waves, and served to " make dark- 
ness visible." If I had never seen the Niagara, it 

O 7 

would have appeared still grander. After singing 
" Lobe den Herrn," (Praise ye the Lord,) to which the 
rush and roar of the fall added an accompaniment, we 
returned to Schatfhausen. 

The following evening was spent at Munoth, a 
castle on a neighboring hill. Father Legrange, one 
of the patriarchs of the Swiss Church, with character- 
istic simplicity, gave a short history of a recent visit 
through France and Italy. Alter night-fall a pro- 
cession was formed, which descended through winding 
arch-ways into the bosom of the hill. In a large vault 
we spent a short season in praise. Here in this Burg 
(Castle) we sang "Eine feste Burg is unser Gott." 
Around us were thick, damp walls, within which all 
was still as the grave. The smoking torches shed a 
dark, red glare over the assembly, which gave the whole 
a wierd appearance. After ascending to the summit, 
ministers and citizens mingled together in social groups. 
Then followed several short valedictory addresses, a few 
more hymns, and a cordial welcome auf Wiedersehen. 



222 SUNDAY IN ZURICH. 

I spend a Sabbath at Zurich. Zwingli was pastor of 
the Muenster or Cathedral. A very large massive 
building, built eight hundred years ago. A vast unor- 
namented structure, that looks as if it could stand a 
thousand years longer. The inside is very plain, with- 
out an organ, and with poor singing for a German con- 
gregation. The preacher evidently is very learned, and 
certainly very dry. His language precise and polished, 
diction pure, delivery calm and deliberate ; his doctrine 
out at elbows, a frigid moralizing, his congregation more 
decorous than devout. The large church not half filled ; 
and this in the church in which Ulrich Zwingli poured 
forth his red-hot sermons to a congregation which the 
building could scarcely contain. In the afternoon 1 
worshipped in St. Peter's Church, where the pious La- 
vater was pastor for twenty-three years. A young man 
preached a very poor, sapless sermon to a congregation 
scarcely filling the twentieth part of the church. 

In this beautiful city, learning and religious 
levity abound. The bulk of the people seem to 
be refined and rationalistic, who fancy that they 
have outgrown the teachings and simple faith of 
Zwingli. The city theatre was open, and far more peo- 
ple spent the day in recreation than in worship. Withal, 
the town was quiet, undisturbed by drunkenness or 
revelry. Much better was I pleased with a Sunday in 
SchafFhausen. The most of its seven thousand seven 
hundred inhabitants are Reformed. Its two principal 
pastors at the time were Dr. Kirchofer and Pastor J. 
Burkhart, both advanced in years. The former was 
Antistes or Pastoral Superintendent of the Canton of 
Schatfhausen. Pastor Burkhart preached in tint morn- 



SUNDAY IN SCHAFFHAUSEN. 223 

ing in the Steige, a church on an elevation at the edge of 
the town. It was full with a devout congregation. The 
preacher officiated in a black robe, as do all the Re- 
formed ministers of Switzerland. His text was the 
parable of the wheat and tares ; his theme the mingled 
state of good and evil in this life, and their final separa- 
tion. An instructive and edifying sermon, full of the 
warmth of Christian love. 

In the afternoon a young man, pastor Magis, preach- 
ed in the same church, on Matthew v. 5. The citizens 
generally seemed to observe the day. Places of business 
were closed, the people on the street were neatly clad, 
and a pleasing atmosphere of rest aad quiet pervaded 
the town. 

Very grateful are my recollections of these two wor- 
thy Swiss pastors, Kirchofer and Burkhart. Much of 
my sojourn in SchafFhausen was spent amid their hospi- 
table home circles, where I formed the acquaintance of 
eminent theologians from different parts of Europe. 
Through fraternal letters they followed me with their 
counsel and blessing on my journey. Both the dear fa- 
thers have since died in the Lord, " and their works do 
follow them." 

The watchmen of Germany and Switzerland usually 
chant a devotional hymn in announcing the hour of 
night. Having spent a very pleasant evening with the 
family of Pastor Burkhart, of SchafFhausen, I returned 
to the hotel "Zur Gans" at a late hour. The daughters 
played and sang sweetly. One of them spoke English 
almost as well as her native tongue, and French and 
Italian equally well. Parents and children vied kindly 
to entertain and bless the stranger. Was it a wonder 






224 A FRIGHTENED MIDNIGHT WANDERER. 

that the hours of evening fled before I knew it ? It was 
cloudy and very dark. I groped and picked my way 
cautiously along the middle of the narrow street ; for 
here one finds no sidewalks or pavements. In the 
sullen stillness of the night, I heard the heavy tramp 
of some one near me. Who can it be ? With that the 
town clock struck one — two — then with his lips not far 
from my ears, as I thought, he startled me with his 
watchman's message, something between a chant and a 
scream : 

" Hoert ihr Lit, ik will ik sagga 

D' Uhr hot elfieg'schlagga— elfie-ee g'schlagga-a." 

In English the verse for eleven runs thus: 

Hark ye neighbors and hear me tell — 
Eleven sounds on the belfry bell ! 
Eleven apostles of holy mind, 
Taught the Gospel to mankind. 

Human watch from harm can't ward us, 

God will watch, and God will guard us ; 

He through his eternal might 

Gives us all a blessed night." 

It is refreshing for an American, after traveling in 
monarchical countries, to enter and breathe the atmos- 
phere of brave heroic Switzerland, where 

" E'en the peasant boasts his rights to scan 
And learns to venerate himself a man." 

While the Roman Republic proved a failure, and 
ours is still in its youth and therefore an experiment, 
here is an example to prove that a Republican form of 
Government is practicable, at least under certain circum- 
stances. The Swiss Republic has existed for nearly 
four centuries ; has passed through cruel and formidable 



ORIGIN OF THE SWISS NATION. 225 

assaults from without, and endured civil wars in its 
own bosom, but has always emerged from them like 
gold from the heated furnace, purer and more durable. 
Switzerland originally seems to have been inhabited 
by the Rhetians. After these came the Helvetians, a 
people from Gaul, who took possession of the fertile 
valleys, and left the mountains to their predecessors. 
The latter were conquered by the Romans in the year 
'58, the former fifteen years B. C. During the migra- 
tion of nations, A. D. 400, Switzerland fell into the 
possession of different tribes, all of which were after- 
wards conquered by the Franks. Thus it passed 
through a diversity of fortunes, until the end of the 
thirteenth and beginning of the fourteenth centuries, 
when the German Emperors, especially Rudolph of 
Hapsburg and his son, ostensibly attempted to make 
the proud patriotic Swiss their vassals. It was then 
that Stauffacher, Fuerst, Arnold and William Tell 
stepped forth in all the fearless majesty of freemen 
in defence of their rights. Supported by the ramparts 
of their native Alps, and the praying hearts and strong- 
arms of their brave brethren, their numerous foes fell 
before them as though some unseen angel had been 
battling in their behalf. In 1499, their independence 
was recognized by the German Empire. Since then, 
however, Switzerland has had to pass through her 
severest trials. In the religious wars of the Refor- 
mation, her prowess was employed in the destruction 
of her own blood, and her loveliest mountains were 
made the altars of self-immolation. Liberty and Reli- 
gion dropped the mingled tear of pity and bereave- 
ment on their graves. One should suppose that greedy 
15 



226 THE CONGRESS OP SWITZERLAND. 

despots would have eagerly seized these unhappy 
fragments of dissention as their prey. But on questions 
of Freedom, Switzerland has always been one. The 
cry of oppression has always been the watchword 
for Union. Hence in spite of her internal and external 
wars, she has gloriously survived her darkest periods, 
and remains a free and independent Republic to this 
day. 

The twenty-two Cantons of Switzerland have a 
population of 2,500,000. Each Canton is a small 
Republic, with power to legislate and govern its own 
affairs. All the Cantons constitute the Swiss Con- 
federation, corresponding to the Government of the 
United States. They hold their general Assembly or 
Congress in Berne, the Washington of Switzerland. 
This body was in session while I was at Berne. In 
a plainly furnished hall I attended one of its ses- 
sions. The business was mainly conducted in the 
French language. It was a gratifying privilege to hear 
and witness the discussions of a Republican Congress on 
this side of the Atlantic, representing a Confederation 
whose origin dates back near to the discovery of Ameri- 
ca. The Assembly was composed mostly of men from 
middle-life and upwards, persons of a mature experi- 
ence and dignified deportment, whose discussions were 
clear, courteous, and to the point. 

Mountains are the nurseries of the Sons of Freedom. 
Switzerland may thank her Alps for Liberty and 
Independence. These, like the Highlands of Scotland, 
have helped to train national heroes. Mountain-air, 
mountain-difficulties, mountain-barriers develop powers 
to overcome mountains. Patriotism does not alwavs 



. FARMING IN SWITZERLAND. 227 

confer comfort, nor can the temporal happiness of the 
Swiss be compared to that of their Republican brethren 
in America. Mountains are more fertile and convenient 
for purposes of Patriotism than Agriculture. In the 
North of Switzerland farmers live in the srood. old 
republican fashion, each one on his own lands, and 
a goodly portion of it, which they generally cultivate 
in a thrifty and tasteful manner. But in the mountains 
it is far otherwise. With a glutted population, where 
no man can have much to farm, and that little perhaps 
along a mountain unacessible by wagon or plough, they 
are obliged in a most literal sense to eat their bread 
in the sweat of their brow. Wherever there is a little 
patch where they can safely labor, they seek to make 
it available by some means or other. Narrow strips 
along fearful precipices, which one would suppose only 
the bold eagle could visit in his flight, are yellow with 
a meagre crop. Thus they 

" Force a churlish soil for scanty bread." 

In these districts farming implements must be few. 
Many an Alpine village has never had plough, harrow 
or wagon in its fields. In pastoral districts they carry 
their butter and cheese down into the valleys to market, 
with large kegs hung on their backs. In the more 
accessible districts their herds are composed of larger 
cattle, but many can only be reached by goats. It is a 
novel sight to see large flocks of these, black, white and 
speckled, each with its jingling little bell, clambering 
along these cloudy heighths. Some of the shepherds 
remind one of the ancient shepherds in the East — old 
men with hoary locks and old gray beards, sitting 



228 SOCIAL, EQUALITY. 

musingly on the cliffs of these mountain solitudes, while 
their herds carefully graze around them, as if conscious 
of dependence upon their protection. This moun- 
tain society seems to be almost entirely free from the 
distinctions of rank. Each has his acres hanging along 
some inconvenient hill, and a few cows or goats, accord- 
ing to the latitude of the village. Their dwellings 
have a uniform appearance — unpainted, weather-boarded 
frame cottages, with verandas and large cornices, 
which look more comfortable for summer than winter use. 
Here there is a social equality rarely met with else- 
where. No upper and lower classes, no stately palaces 
to provoke envy, nor cringing servitude contempt. 

I was surprised to find so many cripples, and other 
species of deformity, in these mountain-regions. The 
severity of the climate, especially during the winter, the 
frequency of accidents resulting from the nature of the 
country, and the heavy, crushing labor which they must 
perform, doubtless contribute much to this. Here chil- 
dren and females perform work intended only for 
strong men. They have been inured to it, and 
seem contented. Some would not give their barren 
mountains for the best farms in America. The Swiss 
are proverbially given to home-sickness; many weep 
and pine away after Switzerland in countries where they 
could live much better than here. Here they cling 
with tenacious fondness to their mountain-heights, upon 
which an American farmer would scarcely venture, 
where they breathe the pure, keen air, and carol their 
pastoral melodies, as they clamber after their work ; 
eat their scanty meals with a grateful heart, and seem 
to be the happiest beings on earth. The small income 



ELECTIONS IN SWITZERLAND. 229 

requires their wants to be kept within narrow limits. 
Their flocks and flax-patches supply them with clothing. 
Here the spinning jenny and factory loom have not 
yet supplanted the buzzing spinning-wheel, and the 
weavers' looms are heard as you pass through the village. 
Hitherto the rush of modern improvement has not 
disturbed their quietude, nor spoiled their habits. 

In the northern Cantons the country exhibits 
unusual signs of prosperity. Many farmers have 
acquired princely fortunes, and their larger towns 
abound in wealth. Here the social equality ceases. A 
powerful monied aristocracy is constantly struggling 
for the ascendancy in the Government, which has fre- 
quently come into collision with the rights of the poorer 
classes. In 1831 it happened that the Legislature of 
the Canton of Berne had become predominantly Aristo- 
cratic, and presumed to act contrary to the interests 
of the laboring people. The latter called a mass 
meeting of the Canton, at a village in the neighborhood 
of Berne, elected a new Legislature, and drove the 
Aristocrats en masse from their seats. This popular 
decision was reversed in 1850. Both parties assembled 
in the open air, near the same place, separated ordy 
by a narrow footpath, where, after they had been 
admonished by stirring speeches amid a terrible snow- 
storm, the election again resulted in favor of the 
A ristocrats. 

The Government of some of the Cantons is purely 
Democratic. The Canton of Uri, the smallest of the 
Confederation, holds a popular assembly every first 
Sunday (!) in May, in a large meadow, where every 
male citizen of twenty years and upwards is entitled 



230 THE LAWS OF URI. 

to vote. A herald announces from a temporary stand 
the subjects which claim the attention of the voters. 
Individual speakers expound and discuss their merits, 
after which the assembly votes by raising hands. Thus 
the laws of Uri are made. And what is most singular, 
with a population of 14,500, it is said to have but 
twelve Protestants. 

Whatever may be the national faults of the Swiss, 
no one can charge them with the sin of religious or 
political duplicity. They have not yet learned to coin- 
promise principles. Their impetuous patriotism, like 
their mountain-torrents, once started, will go ahead 
regardless of consequences, and sometimes with savage 
ferocity. If I remember correctly, Switzerland has had 
few traitors. She can point to her Arnold with greater 
pride than America to hers. Her annals show that 
their difficulties have been more frequently settled by 
the sword than by diplomacy. Her history would be 
more pleasant, if less contentious and bloody. The 
Swiss have fought for principles, until their religion 
became bigotry, and their zeal a lack of charity. A 
little more patriotic forbearance would have made their 
history less heroic, but more humane. They are bold 
and rugged, like their native Alps. Incapable of 
perfidy, they will not submit to wrong. Their annals, 
like their scenery, are full of romance. 

A set of unscrupulous tyrants are appointed their 
oppressors by a mighty Empire. Three men with 
thirty followers assemble on a little meadow after 
night, on the banks of lake Luzerne, where they take 
a solemn oath that they will deliver their country from 
its tyrants. In less than two months not one tyrant 



WILLIAM TELL AND HIS ASSOCIATES. 231 

can be found in all Switzerland. William Tell resisted 
their abuse of power until Gessler, one of their number, 
sought every possible means to entrap or punish him. 
After he had amused himself by compelling Tell to 
shoot an apple from the head of his child, he took him 
prisoner. But while crossing the lake, a storm arose, 
frightening Gessler, who then was glad to get his priso- 
ner to row his imperilled boat ashore, and save his life. 
As the boat neared the shore, Tell leaped out on to 
a rock, and in the effort pushed the boat back on 
the stormy waves. He hurried across the mountains 
and, within a short distance from the Castle in which 
he was to be imprisoned, he hurled his deadly arrow 
into the heart of his oppressor. 

So we have many instances where from motives of 
conviction, the Swiss perform adventures which border 
on the miraculous, and wildly storm along the path of 
duty in the face of certain death. There is but one 
Switzerland in the world, nationally and geographically. 
Her mountains have their agricultural disadvantages, 
but other qualities which all the world must admire and 
praise. Her children have their psychological cliffs and 
rough places, but under this stern exterior are the uncor- 
ruptible virtues of a moral heroism, which always point 
the soul towards the high and the noble. 



CHAP T E II XII. 



AUGSBURG. BAVARIA. MUNICH. WUEBTEMBURG. 

ALSACE. 8TRASBURG. SAXONY. HESSE. THE 

WARTBURG. WITTENBERC. HALBERSTADT. 

GEINDENBERC. BREMEN. (HJSTAV 

A DO], I'll ANNIVERSARY. 



Augsburg seems to have escaped the curse and ruin 
of European wars much better than most of its Bister 
cities. It must have been strongly fortified in its time, 
and is still surrounded with moats and ramparts, which, 
however, are rapidly crumbling into ruins. Many of 
its houses seem very old. Some have the whole front 
covered with representations and mottoes from Bible 
history in faded frescoc. The city wall is surrounded 
by promenades at least six miles long, under the leafy 
canopy of three rows of trees, some of them old rough- 
rinded veterans that may have cast their shade on some 
of the Reformers. It still has a population of forty 
thousand, and is far more quiet than most German 
towns. Some of its streets are green with tufts of grass 
growing in the cracks of the pavements. About one- 
third of its inhabitants are Lutherans, the rest are 
Roman Catholics. Here the celebrated Diet was held, 
which gave to the Lutheran Church the Augsburg 
Confession. I spent a pleasant Sabbath here, during 
which 1 attended services at St. James' church, which 1 
enjoyed with pleasure and benefit. The sermon was 
clear and forcible, and the congregation attentive and 

2;*>2 



A FUNERAL AT AUGSBURG. 233 

tender, sometimes impressed to tears by the truth. 
These Bavarian brethren have a good Liturgy and very 

few of its evils. It is expressive and comprehensive 
without being mechanical. Much depends on the offi- 
ciating minister. I have heard some that were so slid' 
ami formal, that I regarded them far worse than none 
at all. Here the prayers were not the subjective think- 
ing of one man, but the general vehicle for the praises 
and prayers of the whole congregation. 

In the afternoon a wealthy banker of Augsburg was 
interred in the Protestant Cemetery. There was no 
funeral procession. The citizens and neighbors of the 
deceased proceeded to the Cemetery promiscuously. 
First there was a short service in a chapel near the 
grave. At the grave a choir of boys sang a hymn, 
accompanied by a few instruments. The officiating 
pastor cast three small quantities of earth upon the 
coffin with a small spade, accompanying each with ap- 
propriate expressions of man's mortality, and then read 
a short address descriptive of the history and character 
of the deceased, with a few practical reflections. Then 
a number of the acquaintances of the deceased took the 
spade, each throwing three parcels of earth on the coffin. 
After them two weeping females dressed in mourning, 
emptied baskets of boquets and flower wreathes upon it. 
In all the larger towns of Germany there are persons 
expressly appointed to serve at funerals. They dis- 
tribute; funeral notices, and arrange the procession, which 
they generally lead to the place of interment. They 
wear large cocked hats, black cloaks, and in the pro- 
cession carry a long black staff with tufts of feathers 
around one end. Most of the larger towns have a dead- 



234 BAVARIA. 

house in the Cemetery, whither persons are taken imme- 
diately after their decease. Here they are kept forty- 
eight hours, after which they are again taken to their 
late residence, and from there to the grave. 

Bavaria has few mountains. The country between 
Augsburg and Munich is one vast unbroken plain, 
bearing some resemblance to our western prairies, only 
less fertile. It contains large tracts of barren heath and 
peat bog. The cultivated portions were covered with a 
meagre crop, which the farmers were busily engaged in 
gathering in. On Sunday afternoon the fields around 
Augsburg were full of laborers harvesting their crops ! 

Although Bavaria is far behind many of her sister 
States in beauty of scenery and fertility of soil, she has 
a capital which has attained a proud pre-eminence in 
the Arts. Munich and its superbs has a population of 
one hundred and thirty thousand, and is situated in the 
midst of an unproductive plain on the banks of the 
Isar. In the beginning of the present century it was 
but a small city. Since then its population and limits 
have been amazingly increased, and chiefly through the 
agency of Louis I, the present King of Bavaria. 
During forty years he has been the unremitting patron 
of the Arts, for which he has done more than any other 
living monarch in Europe. He has made his capital 
the home of artists, whose works give it the most bril- 
liant decoration of any city north of the Alps. Some of 
the churches are galleries of art, containing the rarest 
collections of paintings, in addition to other architectural 
excellence. The church of St. Louis is built. in the 
Byzantine-Italian style. Its interior, though much 
smaller, resembles the Cathedral at Spire. The semi- 



THE CHURCH OF ST. LOUIS IN MUNICH. 235 

circular ceiling is supported by massive pillars and three 
cross arches. These are crowned with gilded capitals. The 
small arches in which they terminate, and the cornices, 
are fringed with the same metal. The large, lofty panel 
behind the altar contains Cornelius' celebrated painting 
of the " Last Judgment." It is sixty-three by thirty- 
nine feet in size, and is said to be the largest painting 
in the world. Viewed from the opposite end of the 
church through this long, arched vista of pillars, pendant 
with gold, it seems almost like the distant approach 
of the day of doom. In the upper centre is Christ 
on the cloudy judgment seat, surrounded by the saints 
of the Old and New Covenant. At His feet the Virgin 
Mary and John the Baptist are kneeling. All these 
figures are larger than life. That of Christ is over 
twelve feet high. Below Him are a group of four 
angels sounding the last trumpet: the angel of the 
Apocalypse with the open Book of Life and Death. 
To his right are the " blessed," received and welcomed 
by angels ; to his left the " cursed," thrust by horrid 
looking beings into the bottomless pit. Finally it 
terminates toward the altar with an imposing figure of 
the Archangel Michael, holding a shield and drawn 
sword, pointing directly before him, with which he 
separates the innumerable throng of the righteous and 
the wicked after the resurrection. The canvass is cov- 
ered with a scene of terrific confusion. The death that 
never dies, and the life that never fades, joy and despair, 
seem to move and breathe in this awful representation 
of the world's closing drama. Yet how much more 
awful will be the reality ! 

The church of St. Boniface is built in the style 






236 THE PFNAOOTHEK OF MUNTOH. 

of the Roman Basilisks, erected by the King, and only 
recently finished. The lofty ceiling resting on sixty- 
six columns, is studded with golden stars on the ground 
of a blue sky. The wall is hung with twelve large 
and ten smaller paintings, illustrating the painful events 
in the life of St. Boniface. The church of St. Michael 
is also ornamented with rare paintings. Every side- 
chapel is a finished casket of art. 

The Pinacothek, a building five hundred and 
thirty feet long, contains thirteen hundred paintings 
from the private collection of the King. The entrance 
hall was guarded by a Bavarian giant in a most out- 
landish dress. His deep hollow voice and broad bony 
proportions, make him an unnatural sentinel for such a 
depository of art. It is difficult to examine paintings 
satisfactorily among so large a collection. One "cannot 
seethe forest for trees." I noticed a painting of the Cru- 
cifixion, and one of the descent from the cross, which 
the artist portrayed with grief-inspiring fidelity. The 
group of women around the cross, bewailing the painful 
death of the Saviour, looked so life-like, that their 
features almost seemed to quiver with agony, and the 
sweat of grief trembled from every pore. The Royal 
Palace contains a series of halls ornamented with large 
paintings, representing events from the Niebelungenlied, 
others again illustrating the life of Charlemagne, 
Rudolph of Hapsburg, and of Frederick Barbarossa. 
In one hall is the bed of Charles VII, embroidered 
with gold, at a cost of $300,000. The Hall of the 
throne is paved with polished marble. The throne is 
of gold and crimson velvet. The gorgeous gallery is 
supported by twenty Corinthian pillars with gilded 



THE KINGDOM OF WUERTEMBURG. 237 

capitals. Between these are placed twelve colossal 
statues of gilded bronze. The ornamental part of a 
small closet, scarcely ten feet square, cost upward of 
$130,000. In stepping through these halls of gold, 
silver and precious stones, I seemed to realize all my 
early dreams of oriental magnificence and splendor. It 
is impossible to describe in detail all the brilliant attrac- 
tions of Munich. No one particular work of Art, but 
the whole, forms a little world, shedding around the 
light of the Beautiful, which, if once seen, will never be 
forgotten. North of the city is the English Garden, a 
succession of forests and meadows, intersected by "the 
Isar rolling rapidly," of school-boy memory. 

In traveling to Wuertemburg, I noticed a marked 
difference in the aspect of the country, as soon as we 
had crossed the boundary. Her prosperous-looking 
peasantry and yellow, waving grain-fields, with heavy 
bending heads, reflected credit on her soil. In the early 
part of summer, Germany and France had such a long 
rainy season, that serious fears were entertained of a 
failure of the crops. The rain, however, ceased several 
weeks before harvest, and the crops of grain and vintage 
were unusually abundant. Stuttgart, the capital of 
Wuertemburg, though less favored by Art, is more 
gifted by Nature than Munich. Beautifully situated 
among a cluster of vine-clad hills, from which the pass- 
ing breeze wafts pleasant odors through its streets, it 
looks so ouiet, comfortable and home-like, that one 
would feign dwell here. Suabia has a lovely landscape. 
Its charming hills have kindled the flame of poetry in 
many a heart. From these fountains Schiller and 
Uhland drew thei.' first inspirations. Here Frederick 



238 ALSACE. 

Barbarossa and Ulrieh, Duke of Wuertemburg, breathed 
the air that made them brave. Alas! an unpleasant 
fortune of a wanderer is the necessity of leaving a coun- 
try as soon as he feels at home in it. For it still 
has its men, good and brave, in the bloodless battles 
of the Redeemer. Communion with such men as 
Prelat Dr. Kapf and Scholl, who, though a layman, 
exerts a greater influence than most of the clergy, binds 
one to them and their country with kindred and tender 
ties. 

The ancient province of Alsace, then belonging 
to France, mostly consists of vast sandy plains, which 
have been rendered fertile by the industry of its inhabi- 
tants. I reached Strasburg, its former capital, on the 
Frohnleichnams festival of the Catholic Church. Its 
streets were thronged with visitors, through which 
many thousand soldiers paraded with great pomp. 
Public services were held in the Cathedral, which was 
densely crowded all day. The festival passed off very 
orderly till towards evening; then the devotions 
of many took a turn more stupifying than edifying. 
Unfortunately so many of these festivals, which profess 
to start in the spirit, end in the flesh. The Cathedral 
contains the celebrated astronomical clock. A ghastly 
figure of death strikes each passing hour with a warn- 
ing, meaning that the flight of Time brings him nearer. 
Above him is Christ, who overcame Death. When 
Death struck twelve at noon, figures of the twelve 
Apostles walked around the Saviour, each bowing in 
homage to Him; to which He responded by extending 
over them the hand of His blessing. While they passed, 
a large cock to His right, "crowed thrice." The astro- 



THE CITY OF STRASBURG. 239 

nomical part shows the time of church festivals, changes 
of the moon, and lunar and solar eclipses. Though 
moved by weights, the complicated machinery is neces- 
sarily limited in its motion. It will run correctly, how- 
ever, for a period of ten thousand years; after that, 
clocks will most likely be no longer needed. As I was 
curiously examining this marvellous piece of mechan- 
ism, a young man pushed through the crowd and accosted 
me as an American, in whom I soon discovered Mr. 

W. , a young friend from Lancaster, Pa., the first 

acquaintance I had met with since I left New York. 

The Cathedral of Strasburg is further remarkable 
for its lofty steeple. It is four hundred and sixty- 
eight feet high, the highest in the world, and twenty-four 
feet higher than the great Pyramid of Egypt. It is an 
open screen of stone and iron bars, and looks so delicate 
and airy that the slightest wind would seem sufficient 
to blow it over. In ascending through this open net- 
work, one cannot resist the thought that a slip of the 
foot might carry him through its meshes and crush him 
on the pavement below. All the parts are most deli- 
cately and elaborately finished. In the evening the 
Catholic part of the city was brilliantly illuminated, 
and the steeple hung with lamps up to the top. I left 
it after night-fall for Kehl, about five miles distant, 
From here the illuminated steeple presented a scene 
different from anything I had ever seen. The lamps on 
every side were visible through the open net- work. 
But the distance seemed to melt their trembling light 
into continuous strings of pearls and polished gold, on 
which the light of an invisible sun glittered through 
the night with an indescribable splendor. The beau- 



240 HESSE CASSEL. 

tiful outlines of its proportions were limned off with 
lines of fire. The base and body of the building- 
were not illuminated, and therefore invisible, so that the 
steeple seemed entirely detached from the earth. I could 
scarcely conceive how it could belong to this world of 
ours. High above the horizon it hung like the fiery 
cross in the vision of Constantine, trembling in the 
heavens like a huge casket of light, glimmering pleas- 
antly down into the night of Nature. 

Saxony was the principal theatre of the early Ger- 
man Reformation. Its large rolling plains are traversed 
by the Thuringian Forest, a great ornament to its 
otherwise monotonous scenery. The soil seems to be 
remarkably fertile and well cultivated. All along the 
road, I found uninterrupted marks of a rich harvest, 
which, though so late in the season, (August 12,) was 
not near all harvested. On the Schlossberg, near Mars- 
burg, is the Castle of the Landgraves of Hesse, a relic 
from the age of Chivalry, which is now used as a prison. 
The Knight's Hall is still preserved, in which Luther 
and Zwingli discussed the doctrine of Transsubstan- 
tiation before the Landgrave, Philip of Hesse. Farther 
north is Cassel, the capital of Hesse Cassel. Many of 
its improvements were made with the money which the. 
Elector Frederick II, acquired by trafficking in the lives 
of his subjects. He hired twelve thousand men to 
George III, during the American Revolution — for $22,- 
000,000, to fight against the cause of American freedom. 
The next place of Reformation memory is Eisenach. Dur- 
ing the interval of the trains, I visited the Wartburg, a 
half an hours' walk from the town. It is still surrounded 
by a wild uncultivated region. The rush of modern 



LUTHER ON THE WARTBURG. 241 

improvement has not yet defiled the sanctity of this 
pleasant solitude. To the south and west are the forest- 
covered hills of Thuringia, as far as the eye can reach. 
The Castle was the ancient residence of the Landgraves 
of Thuringia, and is chiefly celebrated for furnishing 
a retreat to Luther, until the storm of his enemies had 
partly passed by. On his return from, the Diet of 
Worms, he was waylaid by a party of disguised knights 
on the borders of the Thuringian forest, made prisoner, 
and taken to the Wartburg, where he remained for 
nearly a year. Here he passed for a young nobleman, 
under an assumed name, and occupied his time chiefly 
in translating the Bible. The heavy armor which he 
wore under his assumed character as Junker George, 
is still in his room here. He spent an hour every 
day in walking through the adjoining forest, where 
there is still a hard-beaten path, worn by the feet of 
pilgrims. Here, amid the stillness of this elevated 
solitude, while Europe was all astir about the fire he 
had kindled, and his friends ready to despair of his life, 
he labored to prepare the principal weapon of his 
warfare, a translation of the Bible in the German tongue. 
In his chamber is the table, at which he studied 
while engaged at his work, and also his wardrobe, 
plated with bars of iron. A hole in the plastered wall 
marks the place struck by his inkstand, when he threw 
it at the devil. Crumb after crumb of this soiled 
spot has been picked off by relic hunters, until only 
a defaced depression remains in the wall. In Erfurt, 
an old town with narrow streets, and swarms of soldiers, 
Luther sought peace for his troubled conscience through 
ascetic exertions. A friend at his side being struck by 
16 



242 ERFURT. 

lightning he made a vow that he would devote his life 
to unremitting duties of religion, entered the Augustian 
Convent at Erfurt as a monk of the same order, where 
he strove to satify the demands of the law by fasting, 
prayer, and self-inflicted tortures. The Convent has 
been converted into an Orphan Asylum, but his cell 
is preserved in its original condition. It contains his 
portrait, Bible, and stationary-box. Here in this 
gloomy cell he spent three eventful years of his life, 
at one time almost lifeless with fasting, at another 
ready to despair. In this Convent he accidentally 
found a copy of the Bible, upon whose heavenly pages 
his delighted eye gazed for the first time. 

Wittenberg, a town of 7,000 inhabitants, on the 
right bank of the Elbe, would have few attractions 
for travelers, were it not for its association with the 
Reformation. The strong fortifications thrown up 
around it, shut the rest of. the world entirely out of 
view. It has all the inconveniences of an ancient town, 
and few of its comforts. Here Luther and Melancthon 
lived and taught. The house of the latter is still pre- 
served and occupied. Luther's dwelling in the old 
University building is kept as he left it. The princi- 
pal room contains his chair and that of his wife, joined 
together by a short bench-like frame; also his table and 
stove, made after his own direction, about six times 
the size of a modern stove. The room and furni- 
ture are innocent of paint and ornament. They 
show what immense strides society has made in its 
domestic arrangements during the last three hundred 
years. Outside of the city wail is an oak tree, which 
marks the spot where Luther burnt the Papal Bull 



WITTENBERG. 243 

of excommunication. In the Schloss-Kirche Luther 
and Melancthon are buried. On its doors the former 
nailed his ninety-five theses, condemning the corruptions 
of the Papacy. The old doors, and^the pulpit, were 
destroyed by the French. Here the fearless Reformers 
preached those stirring sermons, which thrilled the 
German nation. 

In visiting these places, associated with the labors 
and stirring times of the Reformers, one cannot help 
but think of the consequent good, and alas ! also evil, 
of which' they were the innocent and unintentional 
causes, and of the changes which have passed over the 
world since then. When I saw their dwellings and 
their studies, their churches and their prisons, I could 
not persuade myself, but what their spirits still lingered 
around their antiquated homes. The dissention and 
dissolving tendencies, which they foresaw and depre- 
cated during their life-time, have come down like a 
second confusion of tongues, after the deluge of midiaival 
darkness and corruption had subsided, so that the build- 
ers of the temple of God's heritage can no longer 
understand one another. Since then, Germany has 
been submerged with a flood of Rationalism, and now 
that these infectious waters are drying away, the cradle 
of the Reformation is again rife with confessional 
wars, and rumors of wars. Instead of directing their 
united forces against the common enemies of truth, they 
waste their strength and ammunition to slay its friends, 
as in a fleet, whose vessels in the smoke and confusion of 
battle, mistake one another for enemies, fire upon and 
destroy each other, while the foe rejoices over their 
folly with chuckling delight, and gathers strength for 
new contests. 



244 NORTH GERMANY AND SWITZERLAND. 

After traveling through Switzerland, the scenery of 
northern Germany seems exceedingly dull and uninter- 
esting. Large tracts of sand and barren heath fre- 
quently occur. T,here are no mountains here, seldom 
even a hill, but all a continuous uninterrupted flat. In 
some towns nothing but the towers and steeples are 
seen over the walls which enclose them. The buildings 
can only be seen after you enter the gates. Halle is 
noted for its Orphan House and University. The 
latter is a union of the former University of Halle and 
that of Wittenberg, where Luther and Melancthon 
taught. In the latter, Hamlet was a student. The 
king and his mother opposed his return. 

" For your intent 

In going back to Wittenberg, 

It is most retrogade to our desire." 

Apart from its literary and beneficent interests, 
Halle possesses few attractions. Its narrow, ill-paved 
and ill-cleaned streets, make it most uncomfortably 
ancient. But science and charity cover a multitude of 
defects. 

I spent a pleasant Sunday in Halberstadt. In- 
stead of a country village, we are in an ancient city 
of twenty thousand inhabitants. I happened to reach 
the city on a Saturday, and repaired to the residence of 

Seminar Director S. , Principal of a well-known 

institution of learning, and a relative of a clerical friend 
in America. A ring of the door-bell brought a servant, 
who led me to the second floor, where the family lived. 
In this country many of the best families occupy only 
one story — there being as many families in the house as 
it has stories. Each story has its separate door-bell. A 



A HAPPY HOME CIRCLE IN HALBERSTADT. 245 

venerable, gray-headed gentleman soon gave me a cordial 
grasp of the hand. Next came his wife, the sister of 
my friend in America, leading a little son and daugh- 
ter by the hand. A beautiful lady, with easy, pleasant 
manners, perhaps ten or fifteen years younger than her 
husband. After the customary greetings, she seated 
herself aside of me, again grasped my hand, and said : 
"Then you really know my brother? And have been 
to his house? And know his wife and children, too? 
Be so kind and tell me something about them." Thus 
she kept on with her affectionate questionings, smiling so 
sweetly, while an occasional tear rolled over her charming 
face. She was a child when her then youthful brother 
had left home, and since then she had not seen his face, 
save in the photographs he had sent her. The children, 
too, had many questions to ask, and many greetings to 
send to their uncle. The mother seemed worried to 
know how she could sufficiently show her kindness 
to one who had seen her brother in the far-off land. 
To me this home seemed like a sort of earthly Paradise. 
Naught but gentle words gently spoken, by parents and 
children; not the slightest impropriety by any one; 
peace and good will everywhere. Mirthful conversation 
at their frugal meals, the attentive, quiet children catch- 
ing and treasuring in their hearts every word that was 
spoken. In the afternoon the whole family took me to 
the Spiegel Berg, a shady place of resort, a short 
distance from the city. The innocent, frisking enjoy- 
ments of the children, the couversation of the parents, 
thither and back, I remember with joy. Till late at 
night we conversed about matters in Germany and 
America, of things on earth and things in heaven. 



246 A SUNDAY IN HAT.BRRSTADT. 

They were members of the Reformed Church. Pastor 
Adolph Krummacher, a poet and an able theologian, 
son of Dr. F. W. Krummacher, is their shepherd. 
Gladly do I go with them to church on Sunday morn- 
ing. Several hundred people were present in a building 
that holds many more. The preacher wore a fine black 
robe. His text was in Matthew vi. 28, 30. " Behold the 
lilies of the field, &c." His theme was the instructive 
image of the lily. 1. Its origin. 2. Its history. 3. 
The estimation in which our Saviour held it. The con- 
nection between the lily and its raiment is inseparable. 
It is not made by art, but grows; grows in the earth. 
It adorns. Its beauty excels the glory of Solomon. 
Art is only a copy, an imitation. Nature is greater, 
higher than art. Flowers, plants, mountains, are greater 
than the painting of them. The Queen of Sheba coming 
from a far country passed many glories on her journey 
unnoticed, greater than that of Solomon. Thus spoke 
the preacher, analyzing the lily with a skillful hand. 

In the afternoon we attended a Lutheran religious 
service in the Dom. The pastor preached on Acts 
xxiii. 12-24. He intoned or chanted some of the 
prayers, facing a crucifix on the altar, with his back 
toward the congregation. The benediction he sang 
facing it. 

Towards evening, several hours were by invitation 
spent with pastor Krummacher. His manner and style 
of preaching, as well as his conversation, are calm, lack- 
ing the fire and energy of his father. He will never 
become the pulpit orator his father was, yet may perform 
a work no less important and permanent, Possessed 
with a genial, gentle heart, and a well stored mind, I 
found him entertaining and instructive. 



A VISIT TO GLINDENBERG. 247 

Halberstadt seems to have a quieter Sunday than 
many other cities of Germany. The churches were on 
the whole well attended, and the streets comparatively free 
from the noise of pleasure and business. Seen through 
the glasses of American prejudices, one can readily pick 
flaws in the Sunday habits of Germany. I found much 
to praise. The earnest, devout demeanor of all the 
people when at church, their whole-souled singing, 
their freedom from all whining cant, the simple, unsus- 
pecting faith of children, these and many other traits I 
must praise and love in the Sundays of Germany. 

Wdlmerstedt consists of a group of dwellings, clus- 
tering around a railway station, ten miles from the 
ancient city of Magdeburg. It was on a Saturday after- 
noon that I reached this hamlet. I strolled leisurely 
along a grass-grown path, winding through unfenced 
fields, and reached Glindenberg in an hours' walk. At 
the end of the village I inquired for the residence of 

Pastor C. , the brother of a clerical friend in 

America. A little boy, with cap in hand, offered to 
lead me thither. At the door of a plain building, in 
style like the peasant homes around it, the middle-aged 
village pastor bade me a hearty welcome as the friend of 
his brother, and as a brother in Christ. 

Glindenberg has from six to eight hundred inhabi- 
tants. They are all laboring people; each has a parcel 
of ground, be it one-half an acre or five acres. None 
are very rich and none very poor. But few have 
horses; one or two cows will furnish butter and milk, 
and do the field-work for such small larming. The 
people are mostly dressed in homespun clothing — 
indeed are homespun throughout, in their habits and 
style of living. They raise the flax, break and spin it ; 



248 THE GIJNDENBERGHR PARSONAGE. 

the village weaver weaves their linens, and they them- 
selves make them up into garments. In like manner 
do they raise their own wool. The village shepherd 
keeps their sheep, the mothers and daughters spin it, 
the village weaver weaves the cloth, and the tailor 
makes the clothing. A frugal, thrifty life do these 
Glindenbergers lead. Outside the village is a manu- 
facturing establishment, giving work to a goodly 
number of the towns-people. 

Pastor C. lives wholly for these humble 

villagers — has lived for them for more than twenty 
years past. He is an educated man ; a graduate of one 
of the leading Universities, a thorough scholar, and an 
humble, devout Christian. Besides laboring earnestly 
among his people, he takes a lively interest in Christ's 
Kingdom in general. He is an author, known among a 
considerable class of readers. He writes for theo- 
logical and scientific Reviews; has written some articles 
on the Greek particles. None could write such stuff' 
without having the spirit of a martyr. Think of a 
laborious country pastor devoting his fragments of 
leisure to such sapless pursuits ! 

In less than an hour I was thoroughly naturalized 
in the home circle. A plain, thrifty housewife, and 
half a dozen children, the oldest a blooifiing daughter 
of sixteen, and the scholarly father, made up the family. 
Servants they seem to have had none. Evidently they 
rarely entertained an American guest at their hospitable 
board. My knowledge of the German language soon 
removed all reserve, and children and parents treated 
me as if I had been a cousin on his summer visit. 

Full well I remember the evening group around 



SUNDAY IN GLrNDENBERG. 249 

the hearth oi the Glindenberger parsonage. Both 
parents were well read in matters pertaining to America. 
But they had many questions to ask which books 
fail to answer. Till near midnight they plied me with 
questions about the Government and Religion of our 
country. What proportion of a community, on an 
average, belong to the Church? How many of the mem- 
bers attend Church? How many commune? How many 
help to support the pastor? What is the pastor's 
support? Do the members give anything to the cause 
of Christ outside of their congregation? If so, how 
much? These and a hundred other questions were put 
as fast as they were answered. 

The dear pastor in his enthusiasm seemed to forget 
the lateness of the hour, and the weariness of his guest. 
"Think of it," he exclaimed, " with you three out of 
four attend the services of the Lord's day, here perhaps 
one in twenty. And as for the Communion, it is no 
better." At the breakfast table, the next morning, 
he said: "Will you please and preach for me this 
morning? Tell my congregation what you told us last 
night." The subject proposed, and his earnest entreaties, 
raised a merry laugh around him. He seemed satisfied 
with my reasons for declining. 

His church is a plain edifice, built to last for 
centuries. The services commenced at 10 a. m. There 
may have been several dozen persons present ; nearly all 
these were women and children. Aided by an organ, 
they sang well. His sermon was very practical, and 
pointed. He unsparingly chided the apathy and in- 
difference of church members, and, as is often done, 
belabored the few dozen of his most faithful parishoners 



250 SUNDAY LABORERS. 

present, for the sins of the absent ones. And since T 
had refused to preach my answers to their questions given 
the previous evening, he freely used them as illustra- 
tions in his sermon. "Think of the Christians in 
America/' he exclaimed, "where four out of five of the 
church-members attend divine services twice a day, and 
as many commune at the Lord's table! Where, of 
their own free choice, the people support their pastors, 
and offer richly for other good objects !" In this strain 
he proceeded for a while, with animation, giving Ameri- 
can Christianity more credit than it really deserved. 

In the afternoon a small party of young ladies from 
Wolmerstedt came on a visit to the younger members of 
the family, who chatted cheerily, and after sapper were 
accompanied by the latter on their way home. On 
a brief stroll around the village, I saw the people busy 
at their work in the fields, whilst cow-teams passed to 
nod fro in the streets. 

"Have you seen how many people work on this day 
of rest?" said my friend. "Those working in the 
neighboring mills must work on Sunday, or lose their 
places. The people esteem their pastor, but refuse to 
obey him." In the evening he went to a neighboring 
family to baptize a child. He walked the street in his 
black robe and bands, in which he had likewise officiated 
in the morning. 

Of course, this worthy brother is well supported, 
whether people will attend church or not. The Gov- 
ernment gives him a parsonage, a small farm, and a 
fixed salary, and the members pay their taxes to furnish 
the means for this support. 

The next morning I bade adieu ,to this estimable 



THE GT7STAV APOEPH YEREIN IN BREMEN. 251 

family. The father accompanied me part of the way to 
Wolmerstedt. Among the green fields of hi.s parishi- 
oners we embraced and kissed each other, each saying 
" Auf Wiederseh'n," as he went his way. Though 
their eyes will never see these lines, my grateful heart 
still prays: "God bless the pastor of Glindenberg and 
his family." 

Bremen is an ancient city rich in interest, and venera- 
ble with age. I reached it during the sessions of the 
General Gustav Adolph Verein. These were held in 
one of her largest and oldest churches. Short, stirring 
addresses were delivered by representative men. 

The reports and speeches evinced a great deal of 
enthusiasm on behalf of German Protestantism in Europe 
and other countries. The Society is looked upon with 
suspicion by the rigid Orthodox party, and perhaps 
not without reason. But its energetic activity is a 
cutting rebuke of the missionary indifference of those 
who lay claim to greater orthodoxy. How often must 
it be said of the benefactors of our race, "and he was 
a Samaritan." A happy evidence, however, of the 
growing Evangelical tone of the Society, at its present 
meeting, was the almost unanimous election of Dr. 
Tholuck as a member of the board of managers. 

A very interesting part of the festive exercises was 
the dedication of a large bronze statue erected to the 
memory of Gustavus Adolphus. Dr. Mallet of Bremen 
delivered an address, in which he portrayed the promi- 
nent virtues of the Sweden King, his heroic devotion 
to the cause of religion, his piety which prompted him 
to pray with and before his army, his humility and 
meekness, which made him deplore and fear the idola- 



252 the soul's longings. 

trous reverence of his subjects and others; the humane 
and merciful treatment of his enemies. 

In traveling " the eye is never satisfied with seeing, 
nor the ear with hearing." The desire seems to increase 
with the enjoyment. The most delightful melodies 
only awaken sadness when they cease. The most 
joyous sensation produced by a rare painting, is the 
undefined and indistinct longing after some ideal. The 
highest mountain tops create longings to ascend higher, 
and the most charming scenery provokes wishes after 
something prettier still. But this only teaches us the 
glorious mission of Nature and Art — to point us to the 
great Fountain, where the boundless wants of our souls 
can alone be satisfied — lead us to bow and worship 
before the great white throne and Him that sitteth 
thereon, the Sun whence the Beautiful, the True and 
the Good unceasingly radiate. And as we wander on 
from scene to scene, and from country to country, amid 
the ruins and wrecks of the past, the pageantry and 
splendors of the present, weaving rapidly their facts and 
follies into history, all admonish us to exercise faith in 
Him, "who orders the powers in heaven and on the 
earth, and appointeth their times and seasons." The 
world is like a picture-book, designed to teach us, who 
are but grown up children, the first lessons of religion, 
and prepare us to understand its higher branches taught 
in divine Revelation. The ideal for "which we sigh," 
is above, "which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard." 
What we now call beautiful, according to our con- 
ceptions, are but the images and shadows of those 
unfathomable beatific mysteries, which God has in 
reversion for all His children. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



LUEBECK. THE EVANGELICAL CHURCH DIET. BER- 
LIN. POTSDAM. DR. F. W. KRUMMACHER. 



The year 1848 threatened Germany with anarchy 
and irreligion. It makes one shudder to hear the 
recital of the wild and unbridled extravagance of other- 
wise reasonable men, which characterized that stormy 
and perilous time. In many regions wealth was de- 
nounced as a crime and the laws of property trampled 
under foot. Mechanics and common laborers ceased 
working, for in the social millenium which was to ensue 
upon the destruction of thrones and the expulsion of 
pastors and priests, all hoped for an easier way of living. 
School-teachers who had stood by their pastors for 
many years in training the young, suddenly turned 
their bitterest enemies, and left no stone unturned to 
effect their ruin. Under the cloak of opposition to the 
union of Church and State, they insisted to divorce 
religion from the schools. Teachers were forbidden to 
say anything about Jesus Christ to their scholars, not 
even to mention His name. The churches were aban- 
doned. Some have told me with tears, how they were 
despised and persecuted for continuing faithful to their 
religious duties. In many places the few who ventured 
to attend divine service were hissed and hooted at when 
they passed through the streets. Families were bitterly 
divided among themselves. Parents turned agai'nst 
their children, and children against their parents. Hus- 

253 



254 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848. 

bauds labored for the ruin of the Church, while their 
wives remained faithful in their devotions and duties. 
The crisis was a dreadful suspense, like the premonitory 
throes of a volcano, whose heaving commotions make 
the very earth tremble with fearful expectation. It was 
not a question of civil liberty, but of religion or no reli- 
gion. For they well knew that Christianity was the foun- 
dation of civil order. Had the so-called friends of free- 
dom been successful, the lovely treasure of art would 
have been blasted by the sacriligious hand of unbelief. 
Even Straus, whose "Life of Jesus," and other writ- 
ings, helped to put the match to this social powder 
magazine, shrunk with horror from such a portentous 
prospect. He refused to serve any longer in the cause 
of the revolutionists, because their success would be fatal 
to science and art. And what a sifting there was among 
the ministry ! The hulls and chaff of rationalism were 
blown out in their true colors by the popular breeze. 
Some made political speeches in their pulpits. Others 
called mass meetings and influenced the populace by 
impassionate and eloquent appeals. Was it a wonder 
that all authority of Church and State was put at 
defiance, when their pastors led them on to it? All 
these were but the worn-out webs of the middle ages, 
like the withs of Delilah, no longer adequate to bind 
this modern Sampson, — the illuminated and progressive 
Man. 

When the heavens were black with a tempest, and 
the billows of revolution and unbridled passion raged in 
all their fury, the friends of truth looked about them for 
some common ground on which they could unitedly 
oppose the flood of irreligion and barbarism, which 



THE GERMAN EVANGELICAL CHURCH DIET. 255 

threatened their German Fatherland. Members of the 
four leading evangelical Churches of Germany, Lu- 
theran, Reformed, Moravian and United, six hundred 
in number, met around the ouiet tomb of Luther and 
Melancthon in Wittenberg, mutually to deliberate and 
devise means for the safety of the Church and the 
spread of Evangelical truth. Thus originated the Ger- 
man Evangelical Church Diet. It does not propose that 
any of these denominations should surrender their dis- 
tinctive doctrines, or that all should be merged into 
one, but that each should labor for the spread of truth 
in its own way, and co-operate with the rest, so far as 
they have common evangelical ground to stand upon. 
It does not wish to connect the Reformed to the Lu- 
theran, or these to the United Church. It has been 
accused for being too much given to doctrinal contro- 
versies, that it was the abettor of oppression, and 
assisted sovereigns to keep their subjects in chains. 
That it was instrumental in stemming the tide of revo- 
lution and anarchy, is one of its most glorious merits. 
It is very natural in a body, including among its lead- 
ing spirits the greatest minds of the denominations it 
represents, that they should come into polemical col- 
lision on some questions. These free discussions, how- 
ever, contribute greatly to a better mutual understand- 
ing of their systems among the clergy and laity. And 
after all, however useless systems of theology and theo- 
ries of religion may be when they are studied and dis- 
cussed abstractly, they are still the skeletons of practical 
living religion, and it is important to have a sound 
and well formed frame in order to develop a sound and 
healthy body. The Church Diet does not stop here. 



256 THE CITY OF LUEBECK. 

Through the work of Inner Missions it grapples with 
all the social and religious disorders, a work in which a 
sound theology is an important factor. The revo- 
lution of 1848 discovered great social diseases, and 
in quarters where few had expected. That the 
masses were ready to fling the Church to the winds, 
pointed to a defective training, and only showed how 
little they were penetrated by the spirit and grace of 
Christianity. These disorders are not only inimical to 
the peace of society, but threaten the safety of religion. 
But if the Diet succeeds to diffuse more largely 
the leaven of Christian truth among the masses, and by 
making them better citizens, plays into the hands of 
sovereigns, who are wicked enough to abuse their 
authority, it would be a very unjust imputation there- 
fore to call it the tool of tyrants. It is not responsible 
for the wrong use others may make of its good works. 

The eighth German Evangelical Church Diet assem- 
bled in Luebeck on the 9th of September, of this 
year. Luebeck is one of the three free cities of Ger- 
many. The city and surrounding territory contain a 
population of fifty-three thousand. It is situated 
between two small rivers, the Trave and Wackeinitz, 
which flow entirely round its walls. It is just large 
enough to make it comfortable. The long promenades 
and thickly shaded parks are within the reach of a mod- 
erate walk. Its little harbor presents a brisk and busy 
display of steamers and merchant vessels. Its dwellings 
look remarkably freih for such an ancient town, and its 
inhabitants are models of German hospitality. The 
attendance was not so large as on some former occa- 
sions, for several reasons. Luebeck is at the extreme 



DR. SACK ON CHURCH MEMBERSHIP. 257 

north of Germany, and therefore at an inconvenient 
distance to many who would otherwise have been 
present. For some months past the city had been 
visited with the cholera. Although it had almost 
entirely disappeared before the meeting of the Kirch- 
entag, still our German brethren, who are not accus- 
tomed to so many railroad collisions and local epidemics, 
place a very high value on human life, and therefore 
some we're deterred from coming to Luebeck. Still to 
me it was an imposing assembly, the largest I have ever 
attended. 

The subject of discussion for the first day was 
"The revival of Evangelical Church discipline," opened 
by Dr. Sack, of Magdeburg. Church discipline has 
almost entirely fallen into disuse in the Evangelical 
Churches of Germany. The State has taken it out 
of their hands. The civil power punishes criminals. 
But there are many crimes in the Church, Avhich the 
State cannot reach. The pastor can admonish his 
members, but has no power to arraign an offender 
before a church council, or suspend him from Church 
Communion for gross sins. In some States it is made 
a penal offence to attempt this. The most prominent 
idea in the discussion was that of excommunication. 
Is it right and proper, under any circumstances, to 
exclude a person from all communion with the Church? 
Is there not more hope of reclaiming him within the 
fold of the visible Church than outside of it? Here 
church-membership is made a civil duty. Every one 
must be baptized and confirmed, and partake of the Lord's 
Supper once, before he can enjoy the rights of citi- 
zenship. But this mechanical square-and-rule religion, 
17 



258 CHURCH DISCIPLINE. 

where the State nolens volens, puts it on its 
subjects, just like so many ready-made regi- 
mentals on her military, fills her Church with 
a most incoherent, heterogeneous membership. Here 
everybody, pantheist, atheist, infidel and skeptic, is 
drilled into the Church by the State, afterwards 
they can believe what they please, say what they please, 
do what they please — I mean with regard to the 
Church — with perfect impunity. Many would rejoice 
to be released from all connection with the Church 
by excommunication. While some speak of her with 
scorn and contempt, they must have their children 
baptized, instructed and confirmed by the ministers. 
But this also has its good effects just now. For since 
the ministry has become prevailingly Evangelical, when 
they instruct the youth diligently and faithfully in 
sound doctrine, and pray with them as only good 
pastors can, we have reason to hope, by the blessing 
of God, that the next generation will be better than the 
present. 

But under such circumstances the question arises : 
Who are the proper subjects of church discipline? 
Should those who have withdrawn themselves from 
communion with the Church, or denounced her ordi- 
nances for twenty years, still be treated as her members? 
Or does not their irreligious conduct itself furnish a 
virtual exclusion? Dr. Sack maintained that they still 
were in the visible fold of Christ, though tares among 
the wheat, and therefore should be treated as members, 
subject to the rules and discipline of the Church. That in 
their present relations they would have to content them- 
selves with a faithful attendance upon pastoral duties, 



THE WANTS OF THE MINISTRY. 259 

(Seelsorge,) that the pastoral office already included an 
important function of discipline, the faithful preaching 
of the word publicly and privately. 

The morning of the second day was occupied by 
discussing " The call to the Ministry," introduced with 
a lengthy address by Dr. Schmieder, from Wittenberg. 
Our German brethren complain of the wants of the 
ministry, numerically and morally. That many are 
in the sacred office uncalled by the Master, to the 
injury of the Church and themselves. That many 
are not in, who are called, but refuse, to the great 
loss of religion. The clergy all come from the middle 
and lower classes. The rich and the nobility seldom 
furnish any. Count Zinzendorf still remains a solitary 
example ol a missionary nobleman. This was ascribed 
to the prevalence of materialism among the higher 
classes. The love of gain, and an aversion to the 
solemn duties of the holy office, deter many from 
entering into the service of the Church. In all my 
social intercourse, I found that irreligion and contempt 
for the Church is far more prevalent among the 
educated and higher classes than among the lower. 
Pastor Meyer of Paris said there were at present 
twenty-three vacant parishes in the Reformed Church 
of France, entirely destitute of the means of grace. 
That they had the son of a wealthy banker, who 
was a faithful village pastor, and they had many excel- 
lent pastors, who were the children of street-sweepers. 
"If they only come, we care not whether they come 
from above or below. Yes, let them come from above, 
far above, from the Lord and Head of the Church." 
" The influence of materialism in modern natural science 



260 I>R. PABRT ON MATERIALISM. 

upon the masses; how shall the Church meet and oppose 
it?" This theme was mainly discussed from a meta- 
physical point of view. Dr. Fabri, who made the 
opening address, remarked that materialism could not 
lay claim to any distinct system of philosophy. It 
has not even yet succeeded to disprove self-conscious- 
ness, and when logically pressed, must terminate in 
Nihilism. Theology and natural science do not neces- 
sarily contradict each other. They can be harmonized 
without torturing any of their principles or data. He 
deprecated governmental coercion. Materialism can 
only be successfully met and conquered by the use 
of spiritual weapons. The investigation and discoveries 
of Natural Science cannot be silenced by flat denials 
or the force of arms. They are facts, and facts have a 
tough vitality, and must be reasonably dealt with. 
Materialism takes it for granted that the Bible is an 
ordinary human production, because many of its state- 
ments conflict with and contradict the discoveries of 
modern science. It does not acknowledge the authority 
of an inspired Revelation. In this battle we must, 
therefore, have recourse to the weapons of science. 
Reason, which always must be held subordinate to the 
word of God, is entitled to unrestricted sway in the 
sphere of science. If we stultify it by an affected 
depreciation of its legitimate powers, we blunt the edge 
of our weapon, and are doomed to defeat. 

Intimations were thrown out by some of the 
speakers, whether Protestantism was not in a measure 
accountable for the prevalence of Materialism. Has not 
the right of private judgment in the reading and under- 
standing of the Bible, put a new weapon into the hands 



DR. STAHL ON MATERIALISM. 261 

of its enemies? Has it not tempted science to take 
presumptuous and profane liberties in its interpretation? 

In summing up the arguments, Dr. Stahl remarked, 
that while Protestantism was measurably responsible 
for the revival and spread of Rationalism, Materialism 
existed in the Papacy anterior to the Reformation. 
Much as he respected and admired the investigations 
of science in the sphere of nature, he regarded it as 
transcending its reasonable limits, when it presumed 
to investigate and define facts in the domain of spiritual 
and eternal verities. It can discover natural laws, 
but it cannot explain them. It can discover planets, 
but it cannot tell us whether they are inhabited. It 
can discover and reduce to practice the electric telegraph, 
but it cannot explain the essence of electricity. Much 
less can it presume to be a judge of the hidden mysteries 
of God. 

The theme for the third day was " The sphere of 
Woman in the Evangelical Church." Dr. Wichern, 
of the Rauhe Haus, near Hamburg, delivered an address 
nearly three hours in length, in which he gave a graphi- 
cal picture of her present position, her trials, claims, and 
duties. It was an excellent production, and would be 
equally interesting, and perhaps even better suited, for 
an American latitude. As it will be published, it may 
possibly.be translated for American circulation. The 
last theme was "The youth of Germany, in connection 
with taverns for traveling journeymen." 

In Germany, all mechanics must travel a certain 
number of years, before they can become masters. When 
their money is exhausted, they work for a short time, 
and if they can find no work, they will beg their way 



262 THE WANDER-BURSCHEN. 

along. Every town has special taverns for journeymen 
travelers, most of which are schools of vice, moral and 
physical sluices of filth. These Wander-Bnrschen are 
exposed to all manner of temptation, and surrounded 
by a most demoralizing social atmosphere. Vigorous 
efforts have been made to better the condition of this 
numerous class, who will fill a large place in the coming- 
age of German society. In many towns " Young Men's 
Christian Associations" have been farmed to furnish a 
home and a healthful society to these pilgrims. New 
hotels have been established, which are conducted on a 
Christian plan. In Bonn there is one, in which reli- 
gious devotions are held every morning and evening, 
which in one summer entertained eight hundred trav- 
eling journeymen in the course of four months. 

In addition to these regular exercises, special con- 
ferences were held in behalf of temperance houses of 
reform, the observance of the Sunday, Christian art, 
the treatment of dismissed criminals, all subjects of the 
most vital, practical importance. A special conference 
of Reformed members was held, at which a convention 
of German Reformed ministers and laymen was ap- 
pointed to be held in Bremen, sometime during the 
coming year. The remaining distinctively Reformed 
congregations of Germany have no ecclesiastical organi- 
zation. They have no synodical, or any other meetings, 
to secure ministerial communion. The meeting at 
Bremen is designed, if possible, to effect some kind of 
an organization. 

Dr. Stahl, from his official position, one of the 
leaders of the Kirchentag, is one of the greatest Jurists 
in Europe. More recently he wrote a pointed, and as 



VON BETHMAN HOLLWEG. 263 

some suppose, a demolishing reply to " Bunsen's Signs 
of the Times." He is the leader of the ultra Lutherani- 
zing party in the United Church. Small in stature, of 
marked Jewish features, (he is a converted Jew) with 
a piercing eagle eye, dark complexion, and awkward 
manners, his appearance strikes a stranger as very unpre- 
possessing. In spite of his lisping, laboring pronuncia- 
tion, his clear, vigorous style, and a mind which teems 
with the fullness of a comprehensive learning, his 
longest speeches commanded the almost breathless atten- 
tion of his audience. 

Since the origination of the Kirchentag, Von 
Bethman Hollweg has been one of its most active 
and energetic leaders. He has filled some of the highest 
offices in the Prussian Government. But with all the 
multitude of State duties that have pressed upon him, he 
has done more perhaps than any other person for the 
Church Diet. With him religion has become a matter 
of the deepest experience. Humble and unassuming, 
his external appearance is like that of a common subject. 
Traveling with him in the cars, a gens d'armes demanded 
his passport. He told him he had none. " Your name, 
sir !" " Bethman Hollweg." The functionary made a 
blushing bow, and hastened away. 

He seems to be thoroughly penetrated with the spirit 
of the Gospel. In public or private, the burden of his 
conversation is always about religion. It is really 
touching, some one has said, " more touching than to 
hear the most eloquent sermon," to hear him, though 
occupying a proud position in the State, bear testimony 
to the goodness and mercy of God, which has converted 
him from the error of his ways, and declare before 



264 THE AMERICAN DELEGATES AT THE DIET. 

the most imposing assemblies, that living faith in the cru- 
cified Redeemer is the only means for the salvation 
of Germany. During the interval of his official duties 
at Berlin, he lives at the Castle of Rheineek, one of 
the most charming spots along the hank: of the Rhine. 
Here he labors late and early, day after day, for Inner 
Missions, and the spread of evangelical religion in 
Germany. 

Besides the delegates from associations, and institu- 
tions of charity, from Bible and Missionary institutes 
from all parts of Germany, the Free Church of Scot- 
land, the Presbyterian Church of Ireland, the Reformed 
Churches of Holland and France, were respectively 
represented at the Kirchentag. The discussions were 
free from polemical bitterness. Doctrinally, litttle was 
said to which any one of the churches represented could 
not cheerfully have subscribed. 

Dr. B. S. Schneck, G. W. Griffith, Esq., and myself 
were delegates of the Reformed Church of the United 
States to the Church Diet. Dr. Schneck, the senior 
delegate, addressed the Diet in behalf of the delegation 
and the Church they represented, in an apt manner, 
to which the presiding officer, Von Beth man Hollweg, 
made a fraternal reply. In the evening the Reformed 
delegates from Germany, France, Holland, Scotland and 
America, held a Conference. Dr. Sack and Dr. Mallet 
were the principal speakers. I was hospitably enter- 
tertained in the family of Consul Minlos, whose genial 
home circle greatly increased the pleasure of my visit to 
Luebeck. 

Having returned to Berlin, I shall tarry here for 
two months. In the Leipsicher Strasse, on the third 



THE CITY OF POTSDAM. 265 

floor of a certain house, I rented a furnished room for 
eight thalers a month. For this amount the landlady 
furnished me a cup of coffee, and a few light cakes, 
morning and evening. These frugal meals J greatly 
relished, despite the black, unwashed hands and face of 
my hostess. My dinners I got at a restaurant, for from 
20 to 30 cents. 

In the summer of 185o, Dr. F. W. Krummacher was 
called to the Garnison's Kirche in Potsdam, by Frederick 
William IV, of Prussia. A strange city is this Pots- 
dam, on the right bank of the Havel, about seventeen 
miles from Berlin, with 40,000 inhabitants. Two 
hundred years ago, the building of a royal palace 
was begun here, since then the Sovereigns of Prussia 
have erected others. In and around the city are 
four royal residences. What Versailles is to Paris? 
Potsdam is to Berlin. Frederick the Great, der Alte 
Fritz, as the Prussians, still proud of him, familiarly 
call him, laid the foundation of its present renown. 
A great man, and withal an odd genius, was this 
Fritz — half Christian and half Pagan. He built the 
palace of Sans Souci, at Potsdam, mnd surrounded it 
with step-like terraces, a multitude of ornamental trees, 
and "gardens of oriental luxuriance. At the end of 
the principal terrace, Fritz buried his favorite dogs 
and his noble war-horse, which had carried him through 
the most of his battles. These graves were the favorite 
resort of the old hero, towards the evening of his 
life; hither he was borne in his arm-chair, surrounded 
by his dogs, a short time before his death. In his 
last will and testament he directed that he should 
be buried by the side of his faithful animals, This 






266 "DER ALTE FRITZ.' 

singular request, however, was disobeyed. He was laid 
in a metallic Sarcophagus, under the pulpit of the 
Garnison's Kirchc. 

Many curious relics of his odd habits and tastes 
remain in the rooms of the Royal Palace. His writing- 
table, blotted all over with ink ; music-stand, piano, 
with music composed and written by himself; green 
eye-shade, book-case, filled with French works; chairs 
and sofas, with their silken covers nearly torn off by 
the claws of his dogs, and soiled with the marks of 
the plates from which he i'ed them; all are here, 
without being cleansed or mended, just as he left them 
at his death, almost one hundred years ago. His 
truck-bed on which he slept, and on no other, has since 
been removed, because worn out and torn to pieces 
by unmannerly relic hunters. In his bed-room, at 
Sans Souci, the old clock is still standing. He always 
wound it up with his own hands. As his end ap- 
proached, he was too weak to wind it, and his servants 
forgot to attend to it. The faithful clock stopped 
the moment the King died. From August 17, 1786, 
until this day, the hour-hand points to 20 minutes 
past two, and so will it continue to point as long as 
Prussia has a Ruler, and a people to revere and preserve 
the memory of its great founder. 

These Potsdam palaces have had a singular etfivt 
on the architecture of the city. Many private houses 
are fashioned after their model. Even day-laborers 
live in puny palaces. "A town of palaces," it has 
therefore been called. Here the great Reformed Court 
Preacher, Dr. F. W. Krummacher, lived and labored 
for a number of years. 



A VISIT TO POTSDAM. 267 

I had now spent well-nigh a month in Berlin — 
had spent it at hard study; studying the customs 
and geography of the Eastern world, worrying through 
the French Grammar, and occasionally attending a 
lecture in the University. On a pleasant Saturday 
morning, toward the end of October, I leisurely wended 
my way out the Leipsicher Straese, through the 
Potsdam Gate, to the depot. Past Botanic Gardens, 
along banks of picturesque streams, skirted with tall 
pine trees, and by neat country villages, our train bore 
us to Potsdam, in little more than half an hour. The 
cars rolled along with a gentle, noiseless motion, without 
any of the unpleasant jarrings so common in railroad 
traveling. The country looked charming; the leaves 
had turned yellow; a genial sort of German Indian 
Summer it was. After spending a few hours at the 
Goldner Adler, the principal, yet plain hotel of the 
royal city, I presented my card at the door of an 
ordinary-looking dwelling; it was late in the afternoon ; 
the servant soon returned, and led me to Dr. Krum- 
macher's study. On my way from the hotel thither, 
and going up the stairway, I nervously pondered over 
the probable appearance of the good and great man. 
How would he look? and speak? and receive me? 
Other divines of Germany caught me around the 
neck and kissed me, as if I had been their son or 
brother; certainly this man, at the foot of Prussia's 
throne, will be more reserved — somehow I wished 
he would be; and so I found him. 

As soon as the servant opened the door of his study, 
he arose and extended his hand, and greeted me 
cordially, with a deep sepulchral voice, saying — " Wir 



268 DR. F. W. KRTTMMACHER. 

haben sie schon lange erwartet. Uusere Freunde 
schriehen uns dags sie uns besuchen wuerden. (We 
have been expecting yon for some time. Our friends 
wrote that you were coming.) Pray, be seated." Then 
followed a series of questions about his American 
friends — Dr. Nevin, Dr. Shaff, Dr. Sehneck, Dr. Hof- 
feditz, and others; where I had traveled, how I was 
pleased with Europe, and with Berlin, and with the 
German Church Diet, and whither I expected to travel 
thereafter. 

All this while, however, there was a strange air 
of dignity about the man, which kept me at a certain 
distance. His whole appearance partook of the majestic. 
Tall, somewhat portly, yet very graceful, with a massive 
forehead, an oval, earnest face, so benevolent that it 
looked as if he might take you into his arms, and press 
you to his warm heart; and a voice which, if allowed 
full expression, might make the windows of a Cathedral 
clatter. His dress was faultless — a suit of the finest 
cloth, tastefully made and tidily put on; not a frock, 
but a dress-coat, such as are always worn in the Court 
circles of Prussia; boots brightly polished ; pants tightly 
strapped down ; nicely starched standing collar, and 
white cravat — such was his apparel. The keenest 
eye could not detect a spot, a wrinkle, or a fault of any 
kind. Thus he sat on his chair, with his left arm 
resting on a plain study-table, erect as a statue, talking 
lo me with a dignity, as if I had been the scion of some 
noble stock; yet a dignity, mingled with perceptible 
and felt tenderness towards me. 

I describe him as he seemed to me, not with a view 
to find fault, but to give a truthful picture. Perhaps 



THE STUDY OF A COURT PREACHER. 269 

my first impression was somewhat colored by a feeling 
of contrast. From my youth I had read his books 
with rapt interest, and heard him spoken of by his 
parishioners and intimate friends as the prince of Eu- 
ropean pulpit orators; the fearless, valorous "Elijah" of 
Germany, denouncing royal vices, and warning Kings 
to flee from the wrath to come. 

Not to see the King, but Krummacher, had I come 
to Potsdam. In walking the streets, and looking at the 
palaces, methought the pastor of the Garnison's Kirehe 
was a greater King than his royal friend, Frederick 
William IV. What Longfellow says oi Nuremberg's 
painter and cobbler bard, I felt was true of Prussia's 
( 1 ourt Preacher: 

" Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's 
regard, 

But thy painter, Albrecht Duerer, and Hans Sachs, thy cob- 
bler bard." 

All this T felt. Coming from my humble lodgings, 
on the third-story of a certain house in the Leipsicher 
Strasse, my head full with admiration and reverence for 
this great man, I might well feel somewhat timid at first 
in his presence. 

His study was arranged in a neat, simple style. 
The floor was uncarpeted, but painted; his fine library 
lined the walls; the furniture was plain, but well 
suited; all the books were in their places; no scrap of 
waste paper or needless book was on the table ! Alas ! 
when I look at my table, at this present writing, what 
a contrast with his! A dozen of books, closed, open, 
half-open; some lying open on the back, others lying 
on the open pages; journals, portfolios, letters, blotters, 



270 HOFLUFT. 

torn envelopes, scraps of scribbled paper, pens, pencils 
— all huddled together pell-mell before me, in spite of 
the repeated interposition of friendly hands. 

Perhaps I ought to state here, however, that the 
condition of Krummacher's study on that Saturday 
afternoon at 5 o'clock, ought not to be taken as its 
average appearance. On a certain morning I visited 
Dr. Ullman, of Carlsruhe. He was seated in the middle 
of his study, with books and papers on the table, and 
scattered all around him on the floor. This happened 
to be his study hour. Between four and five in the 
afternoon, the time for receiving visitors, matters would 
have presented a very different aspect. All the city 
pastors of Germany have a fixed time — usually from 4 
to 5 p. m. — to receive calls. This time is printed, in 
connection with each one's name, in the City Directory, 
so that even foreigners may know when to visit them. 
The earlier part of the day they devote to study or 
pastoral labor, when they are rarely interrupted. Thus 
the study may present an appearance in the afternoon, 
very different from that in the morning. 

In Europe Court preachers are often charged with 
being unduly influenced by the Court atmosphere (Hof- 
luft). The inhaling of this is supposed to change their 
manners and habits. Within certain limits this ought 
to be the case. The man, be he minister or layman, who 
is unable or unwilling to conform to Court etiquette, 
is unfit to appear in the royal presence. It is natural 
that one filling a place like that of Krummacher, for a 
number of years, should, perhaps unconsciously, become 
somewhat formal and precise in his manner. He is a 
servant of the King, and ought to demean himself 



SUNDAY IN POTSDAM. 271 

accordingly. Krummacher's glory was, that whilst he 
honored his royal master, he revered the King of Kings 
more, and fearlessly preached His word, even at the 
risk of incurring the royal displeasure. 

After conversing awhile, he took me into an adjoin- 
ing room, where his afflicted wife was reclining on a 
sofa; a very kind-hearted old lady, who received the 
American with maternal greetings. Krumraacher was 
greatly concerned about her illness. 

After returning to the hotel that evening, I received 
the following card: 

'■ F. W. Krummacher, 

Doctor der Theologie und Koeniglicher 

Hofprediger, 

bittet Herri] Pastor B. aus Amerika moreen Abend 

ihn zum Thee zu besuohen." 

(F. W. Krummacher, Doctor of Theology and royal 
Court Preacher, invites Pastor B., of America, to take 
tea with him to-morrow evening.) 

The following day was Sunday. To my disappoint- 
ment Krummacher was disabled from preaching by a 
sore throat : thus it happened that I failed to hear the 
greatest pulpit orator of Germany. His church was 
(dosed. I had formed the agreeable acquaintance of 
another Potsdam family; these kindly invited me to 
attend them to the Church of the Holy Ghost, their 
stated place of worship. I soon found that they had no 
taste for Krummacher's preaching; he was too stern, 
legalistic, denunciatory — pietistic, as they said. In the 
morning their church was crowded. The military were 
marched on to the galleries. Every pew was packed. 
Pastor B. preached on the parable of the unmerciful 



272 THE PULPIT OP POTSDAM. 

servant — in Matthew xviii. A right earnest sermon he 
preached, and the congregation demeaned themselves 
devoutly. 

"IIcit Pastor," said my friends, "you must go with 
us at three this afternoon, to hear Dr. E. We have two 
pastors in our church." At a frugal, tree and easy 
dinner, such as you can only find in a German home, 
much was spoken about the Potsdam congregations and 
pastors, and of Prussian oppression; of such taxes and 
ot her tyrannies as they had to endure. They spoke to me 
as a confidential guest, who would not betray them to the 
Government. " For," said they, "we are watched, and 
so are others of our way of thinking." I soon learned 
that these kind people belonged to the free thinkers, 
who hated Krummaeher on account of his bold and 
fearless defence of 'the truth. 

At three we went to church again; this time it was 
not so full, although the more eloquent of the two 
pastors preached. The morning sendee is the principal 
one in Germany. Few people care about going to 
church in the afternoon or evening; and, save in the 
larger cities, they are rarely invited to do so. Dr. E. 
I (reached on the same text as we had in the morning — it 
was theGospel for the day. His sermon abounded in 
"good hits." He is evidently a fine scholar, and, for 
people of his way of thinking, an entertaining preacher; 
but of the kernal of his subject we got precious little in 
his sermon. 

"You must become acquainted with Dr. E.," said 
my friends. " We have invited him to our house to 
meet you. You will go home with us again." In a 
short time the eloquent pastor arrived. He at once sat 



A CLERICAL " FREE-THINKER." 273 

beside me, with his ear-trumpet in his hand, for he 
was hard of hearing. He was a middle-aged man, 
of medium size, with sallow complexion, and the 
appearance of a hard student, brim-full of learning, 
and possessing remarkable conversational powers. He 
at once commenced a tirade against the tyranny of 
Church and State in Germany. " My hope for Ger- 
many's future is in her people. All great events in 
her history have sprung from her popular religious 
genius. That is always right. What do the people 
care about the doctrines of the Lutheran and Reformed 
Churches? Mark it, sir, if theologians and political 
leaders presume too much on the submission of the 
people, they will soon be cast overboard." And so 
he went on, eulogizing German Democracy and be- 
laboring the powers that be. In reply to his 
remark, I asked whether the popular observance of 
Sunday, on the continent, was approved of by the 
Christian sentiment of the people. He remarked: 
"The Sunday is intended to be spent according to 
our wants; whether we attend church, mingle in 
society, or labor, we do right if our wants require 
it. Depend upon it, there will' be a Germanic Unity. 
Not a uniformity of faiths, not a union of views, 
not an adoration of the letter, but one wherein each 
can believe as he chooses, and yet all will mutually 
recognize each other as brethren. When, like the birds 
of the forest, each will warble his own song, and yet 
all praise the same Being." I thought of the quaint 
saying of Claudius: a Ein jeder pfeift wie ihm der 
Schnabel gewachsen ist," (every bird pipes according 
to the shape of its beak). A very strong and dangerous 
18 



274 AN EVENING IN DR. KRUMMACHEfiS FAMILY. 

man was Dr. E., one of the practical leaders of German 
Rationalism. I noticed a little son of my host, with 
pen and pencil in hand, taking notes of the brilliant 
sayings of his erratic pastor. He was the representa- 
tive and leader of the Rationalistic and anti-Krum- 
macher party in Potsdam. 

With a sense of relief, I proceeded to Krummacher'e 
in the evening. I was led into a plain, uncarpeted 
sitting-room, and made acquainted with the different 
members of the family. The oldest son, Adolph, 
1 met at Halberstadt, where he is pastor of the 
Reformed church; the second one was absent at 
school ; the four daughters, two of them grown, were 
just such modest, unaffected, intelligent, agreeable girls 
us one might expect to meet in a well-regulated German 
pastor's family. Mrs. Krununacher had partly recov- 
ered from her illness the day before. Two friends, 
besides myself, were invited to the little circle — - one a 

plain-looking, elderly lady, the Duchess of , 

the other a pious old gentleman, in regimentals, Major 
, an officer in the Prussian army. The sub- 
jects of conversation were chiefly religious. The stale 
of Christianity in America, the condition of the Ameri- 
can Indians, and the Christian home-life in our country, 
were familiarly discussed. How different Dr. Krum- 
macher's conversation from that of \h\ E. 1 Mis. 
Krununacher, seated on a comfortable chair (tht; Ger- 
man ladies have no rocking-chairs), had many questions 
to ask and answer. 

The supper was a frugal meal, showing that the 
Oberhofprediger did not burden his servants with 
excessive Sunday-cooking. At the table the venerable 



A PLEASING HOME SCENE. 275 

head of the family asked a blessing. The conversation 
was continued thereat. The Dr. seemed less courtly 
and more accessible than on the day before. The oldest 
daughter, Matilda, spoke English well, and remarked 
that the most of their friends spoke only German 
and French; that although they read many English 
books, they had comparatively few opportunities to 
engage in English conversation. Her preference to 
converse in English was quite a relief to me, as I 
deemed my American German scarcely passable for 
such a circle. 

The Germans are slow eaters, and therein (Ins 
show their good sense. A goodly time was spent at the 
table, and all the while some tongues were wagging 
pleasantly, making one forget the delicious dish before 
him. After returning to the sitting-room new subjects 
were introduced. The whole group seemed to feel like 
members of the same family circle, bating the occasional 
use of the title of " Grsefin" (Duchess), when any one 
addressed the noble lady. 

Most beautiful was the unaffected tenderness between 
the parents and their children. So gentle, open-hearted, 
respectful, familiar, and courteous in tones of voice, and 
modes of expression; in look, language and manner 
there is a certain something in the intercourse between 
( Christian German parents and their children, which 
one finds nowhere else. Their love is truly without 
dissimulation, neither shown from a sens*; of duty, nor 
for the sake of effect. Its presence charms the stranger 
and sends him away with a blessing, dreaming over 
happy scenes of domestic life. In the hearts of German 
children it lives forever. Old and gray-headed men 



276 PAEENTAL AND FILIAL AFFECTION. 

are not ashamed to embrace and kiss their much older 
parents, and shed tears when they meet and part. So I 
found this peaceful, happy family of the Court preacher. 
How tenderly these daughters cared for and caressed 
their father. The well-ordered arrangement of his 
study, and his faultless apparel, spoke of their filial love. 



CHAPTER XIV 



K1RMES OR GERMAN FAIRS. THE RELIGIOUS CONDI- 
TION OF GERMANY. THE UNION OF CHURCH 
AND STATE. 



The Germans have ever been an industrious, hard- 
working people. And ever, too, a feast-loving race. 
But their festivals, like their work, rarely run into 
excess. The true German eats and drinks, works, 
plays and prays according to the dictates of reason. 
His seasons of toil are interspersed with gala days — 
with civic and religious festivals. He celebrates the 
birth-days of parents and children, of his nation's king 
and of the King of kings; and they are days of 
mirth and recreation. On them his muscles and joints, 
stiff with work, unbend, and for a brief season he 
forgets his burdens and frisks in youthful sports. 

When wildly roving in barbaric freedom through 
the forests of Northern Europe, our German ancestors 
had their games and sports. And when the Christian 
Church had tamed their wild nature, this taste and need 
of social amusements was partly gratified in a higher 
form, by the festivals of the Church. In addition to 
these, they held, and still observe, a certain annual 
feast-day, called Kirmes. This is held in every 
village, and in many parishes of larger cities. It is the 
anniversary of the dedication of the parish church. 
In a country where church edifices get to be five 
hundred or one thousand years old, this memorial 

277 



278 THE GREAT VILLAGE FESTIVAL. 

service is invested with many historical and traditional 
reminiscences. It does not happen on the identical 
day of the original dedication of the church. It is 
commonly held in autumn, after the harvest has been 
safely housed into barns, and the juice of the luscious 
grape gathered into barrels. It thus becomes a sort 
of a "harvest home," when the people praise God 
for the bread of life as secured to them through the 
founding of their church; and for the bread that 
perisheth, just gathered into barns. German villages 
are usually close neighbors. Sometimes you find a 
dozen in a few square miles. All have Kirmes in 
the same season of the year, but no two of the same 
neighborhood at the same time. This makes the 
fall of the year in some districts a time of continuous 
festivity. Kirmes is a regular, fixed institution. When 
men and women hire out, or apprentices are indentured, 
the Kirmes days are always reserved. On them no 
work is done. 

A great day is Kirmes to the people of a German 
village. Remote from large cities, they and their 
children learn but little of the refinement and follies 
found in these centres of Germanic life. Here and 
there one pays a chance visit to the market town. 
But, save on market days, this is not a whit in advance 
of his native Dorf. City folks have their social 
gatherings, concerts and theatres. Country people — 
and all country people live in villages — have fewer 
wants and fewer enjoyments. But such enjoyments 
as they have, accord with their simple rural habits. 

Once a year the quiet current of their village-life 
overflows its accustomed channel. For weeks before, 



THE GREAT HOME-COMING. 279 

busy hands turn their simple pleasant homes upside- 
down. All female hands are set to scrubbing and 
sweeping every nook and corner, from garret to cellar — 
points which in most houses are not very far apart. 
Wardrobes are renewed ; old clothes are whipped, 
brushed and mended; new clothes are brought from 
the milliners and tailors. As the time approaches, 
laboring people save all their spare earnings for pocket- 
money. For this day some new thing must be bought; 
if not a bonnet, at least a new ribbon; if not a coat and 
pantaloons, at least a tidy cap. 

In the German Dorf working people cannot all 
find employment at home. Many young men and 
maidens must go to service or the learning of a trade, 
ten and twenty miles from home. And many cannot 
visit home, save on Kirmes. Indeed, all home-comings 
of children date from and to this day. When appren- 
tice boys leave home to learn a trade with some unknown 
and perhaps unfeeling master, with visions of hard 
work and the cruel rod before their minds, a ray of 
hope dispels their inner gloom ; it is that " next Kirmes 
I shall visit home." When Ludwig Baltzer's Lisbet 
left home the last time, to serve at Mansfeld, fifteen 
miles off, she and her mother embraced each other 
at the garden-gate, weeping. And as Lisbet walked 
sadly away, her mother, holding her apron before 
her sobbing face, called after her: "Auf Wiedersehen 
bis Kirmes, mein Herzchen." (Till Kirmes, my 
darling; we shall meet again). And now, as the affec- 
tionate girl toils at her daily task, many a dreary 
thought is dispelled with the hope "Next Kirmes I 
shall visit home." And as the old people sit under 



280 KIRMES AT LIEBESHEIM. 

their nut-trees before the door, in the cool of the 
evening, speaking tenderly of one and another of their 
children — children whose industry and piety convert 
their old age into a season of daily peace — they say to 
each other: "TillKirmes we shall see them all." Is it 
a wonder that a clean house, the best wine, and the 
choicest dish at their command, wexcome them home? 
For one day parents and children enjoy themselves 
with the best their frugal means afford. 

"Go with me to a Kirmes at Liebesheim." "Nicht 
wahr," says a newly-made village acquaintance, "to- 
morrow you will go with us to Kirmes? I want to 
show you how we people in the German-land enjoy our- 
selves. I will call for you in the morning." "Thank 
you ; I have a great desire to go, and you are just the 
man to guide me." An hour after sunrise my friend 
pulls up his ox-team before the tavern — a fine yoke of 
smooth, yellow animals, hitched to a heavy wagon, with 
hay-ladders on it. Board seats are arranged on these, 
tightly packed with wife, children, brothers and sisters, 
and their families, all enduring their close quarters with 
the greatest good cheer. "Guten Morgen, Herr Ameri- 
kaner," says my good-natured friend, lifting his cap, 
" I have reserved the seat of honor for you, right aside 
of me, the captain of this ship. Should a storm arise, 
you will at least be near the helm, even if you cannot 
hold it." His son, a young man of eighteen, dressed in 
gray home-made woolen clothes, steers the ship. The 
lash of his whip is two yards long, and evidently plaited 
for this day. With studied skill he sweeps it over our 
heads, now and then cracking it with a noise which sets 
all the dogs along the street barking after us. For six 



THE RIDE TO KIRMES. 281 

miles we leisurely ride over the smooth, level road — 
excellent road-makers these Germans have been for the 
last thousand years; making roads, too, in the world of 
thought, paths grown old by the treading of thirty 
generations. Nearly the whole length of this road is 
lined with tall nut and shade trees, ,n both sides. 
As far as the eye can reach, merry groups are wending 
their way towards Liebesheim. Spry maidens, with 
gaudy skirts and aprons of spotless purity, some with 
gay-ribboned bonnets, and others unbonneted; men 
with heavy, hob-nail boots and great cloth coats, with 
high collars and skirts reaching to their ankles, all 
the more valuable from age and long use; others coat- 
less, in white home-made linen shirt-sleeves and snug 
little caps ; all in such Sunday-suits as they can com- 
mand. 

The party on our wagon keeps up an incessant 
chattering, like swallows on a barn-roof. Fritz can 
hardly make the oxen hear nis boisterous orders. 
Occasionally a sweet morning hymn is sung, mingling 
its notes with the early chant of the sky-lark, flapping 
upward, until its song dies away in the blue depths 
above. Even the oxen swing the red and blue ribbons tied 
on their great horns, with a seeming conscious pleasure. 
Instead of the heavy, drudging tread of their race, they 
trip along with nimble step. As we near the village, 
the road becomes more crowded. Along every by-road 
the people come streaming; and all in groups or 
families. For the Germans engage in their faith and 
fun, their religion and recreation, in households. They 
go to the beer-house, to baptisms and burials, in family 
groups. The wealthier few ride with horse-teams; 



282 WORSHIP AT KIRMES. 

others with ox-teams; others with cow-teams; and 
others travel afoot. "Guttm Morgen, Frseulein Mor- 
genroth," said the flaxen-headed Fritz, as he lifted 
his cap to a blushing girl. "Wo ha, Rapp," cried the 
father. "See, see, Fritz, the wagon is turning against 
the fence." The poor fellow's girl made him forget his 
oxen. "Allez Rapp, forwarts du Canallie." 

All the streets in the village are alive with people, 
insomuch that Fritz can with difficulty work his team 
through the crowd. The tavern, where we alight, is 
literally packed, where few find room to sit down, and a 
multitude is hanging around the front door, like the 
bees around the door of their hive in swarming time. 
At the time appointed for church, my friend takes me 
to the sanctuary. Holding his hat before his face, 
he pauses a few moments standing in his pew and 
prays for God's blessing upon the service. Although 
not accustomed to this posture at the opening prayer 
at home, I, too, hide my face in my travel-worn hat in 
prayer. I notice all the men reverently praying this 
way e'er they take their seats ; and all the women in 
like manner fold their hands around their hymn books, 
tied in a white handkerchief, bow their heads in silent 
prayer before they sit down. And when seated, nearly 
all turn to some hymn in the book, and devoutly 
read or pray it, till the regular services begin. 

At the side of the church a narrow pulpit is perched 
high up on a pedestal. In front of it is a small altar, 
with a railing round it. On the altar stand three vases 
with flowers, whose fragrance fills the church with 
sweet incense; a large vase between two smaller ones. 
And back of the large vase is a cross, ornamented 



THE LIEBESHEIMER CHURCH PRAISE. 283 

with flowers and evergreens. The pulpit is hung with 
garlands, and the doors, windows and organ are 
wreathed with tufts of pine. At ten o'clock the bells 
begin to ring. Ah, there's music in the church-going 
bell, as heard 3,000 miles from home. It rekindles the 
purer and holier feelings, the loves and faiths of one's 
earlier life. And for six hundred years past, this 
bell has called the people to church on every Lord's 
day, and to the Kirmes in the autumn of every year. 
This gives earnest people much to think about; and 
inspires them with devotion. 

Aside of the pulpit hangs a black-board, about a 
foot square. On it are written with chalk two numbers 
— the numbers of the hyms to be sung. While the 
organist is preluding, all the people turn to the first 
hymn indicated on the board. And when he starts 
the first line, the pent-up praise of the congregation 
abruptly bursts forth like the first blast of a brass band. 
I cannot help but look at these simple people, in their 
odd costumes, with and without coats, old women with 
petticoats and jackets of twenty years' wear — the toiling 
burghers with horny hands, and the gayer young people, 
all looking reverently at their books, singing mightily 
with throats wide-open, as if trying to roll an infinite 
burden off their hearts. Many an unmusical and 
screeching voice is there, but they sound like the 
discords in the Creation, enhancing the harmony. 
My friend holds his book before me, to aid my singing. 
But somehow, I break down before I reach the end 
of the first verse, which weakness I try my utmost 
to hide, as we foolish men usually do. The gentler 
sex weeps outright, and cares not who knows it; but 



284 THE KIRMES SERMON. 

we silly men, considering tears unmanly, are ashamed to 
have others see them. Here I sat sobbing, my' heart- 
strings trembling under the mighty song of praise, as 
trembled the strings of David's harp, under the touch of 
his royal hand. 

" There is in souls a sympathy with sounds, 
And as the mind is pitched, the ear is pleas'd 
With melting airs, or martial, brisk or grave, 
Some chord, in unison with what we hear, 
Is touched within us, and the heart replies." 

As the congregation sings the last verse, a pale, middle- 
aged man, a flowing robe hanging around his slender 
frame, with a closely-shaven face and hair just turning 
grey, steps out of a side-door into the chancel. After 
reading a passage of Scripture, and a suitable prayer 
from the Liturgy, he ascends the pulpit, and kneeling 
with his face on the Bible-board, he prays for the 
divine help and blessing. Meanwhile the congregation 
sings another verse. After reading his text, he preaches 
half an hour, about the piety and love their ancestors 
displayed in the building of their church, and worship- 
ping in it; and about the love of God, who had 
thitherto watched over and greatly blessed their village 
and congregation, and who had continued to them the 
fruits of the earth and the blessings of religion. Every 
eye is turned to him with unflagging attention; even 
the crowd standing with uncovered heads around the 
open windows and doors, devoutly join in the service to 
its close. 

Liebesheim gave the preacher no historical incidents 
wherewith to intersperse his sermon. Had he preached 
at Ober-Ingelheim, he would have reminded the people 
that their town had the honor of being the birth-place 



THE KIRMES DINNER. 285 

of Charlemagne. If at Eisenach, he would have dwelt 
on the Denkwuerdigkeiten of that famous town. For 
did not the Minnessenger hold a grand Contest of Song 
on the neighboring Wartburg, in 1205? There Luther 
found refuge from his cruel enemies; and in this town 
Sebastian Bach was born, the greatest musician of his 
age, perhaps of all ages. Excellent material for a Kirmes 
sermon would these facts furnish. As a truthful 
preacher, our Liebesheimer man of God confines himself 
to the meagre stock of historical material, which his 
quiet village affords. His sermon is pointed and im- 
pressive, as the moist eyes of his hearers show. 

After church the people disperse in various direc- 
tions. The more fortunate go home to spend the day 
with their parents. Others dine with their god-fathers, 
who held and stood for them at their baptism. Some 
visit their relatives. Many seek refreshment at some 
bakery or beer-house. The most go to the tavern. 
In the house and garden, tables are spread. The premises 
are perfumed with the incense of soup, sausages, and 
sour-krout. But few find sitting-room. For these 
Dorf-Wirthshaeuser are but small buildings. Save at 
Kirmes, they have ample room to accommodate their 
guests. Their whole arrangement is in the simples^ 
style. Instead of being carpeted, the floors are strewn 
with white sand. Chairs and a long table adorn the 
principal room, 

" Where village statesmen talk with looks profound, 
And news much older than their ale goes round." 

Their beds are narrow boxes on legs, boarded at the 
side, with high, heavy feather beds. The sheets are 



286 THE KIRMES DANCE. 

white as the driven snow. Everything, in the smallest 
detail, is arranged with an eye to the useful. Nothing 
superfluous. 

" The white-wash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, 
The varnis'd clock that clicks behind the door," 

each and all have their mission to perform, without any 
superfluous ornament. 

When dinner is over, young and old stroll beneath 
the shade trees of the village forest, or visit some friend 
or family. Many pair oft' old-fashionedly, and fall in 
love; and thus it happens that many a betrothal dates 
from Kirmes. Not a few enter the gate of the God's 
Acre, back of the church, to drop a tear or flower on 
some grassy mound, which covers all that was mortal of 
some dear one. 

At four in the afternoon, and no sooner, a small 
band prepares to tune its instruments. As old war- 
steeds chafe with uncontrollable fire at the beat of the 
drum, so the sound of music at the Kirmes, sets all 
heels a-leaping. Usually a board floor is laid under 
the trees, whereon musical feet trip away at their clat- 
tering tunes. Sometimes a large frame shed is erected 
for this purpose, with windowless holes to admit the 
light. Or possibly, the village landlord starts a set in 
his parlor. All dance. Parents and children, young 
men and blushing maidens, and their grand-papas 
and grand-mammas, skip over the floor with marvellous 
grace. Old men, worn out by hard work, who trudge 
after their daily tasks with limping gait, bound into the 
ring at the sound of merry music, and gracefully whirl 
around in the waltz, with the sweethearts of their sons, 



THE MUSIC OF THE FEET. 287 

forgetting the burdens of declining life. All seem 
young again — all goes, " merry as a marriage bell." 

" Dames of ancient days 
Have led their children through the mirthful maze ; 
And the gay grand-sire, skilled in gestic lore, 
Has frisk' d beneath the burthen of three-score." 

Mind you, kind reader, I am not writing in praise 
of dancing, but simply a scrap of its history. It is a 
mysterious habit, hard to be accounted for. Some one 
calls it "the music of the feet, and the gladness of 
young legs, and the poetry of motion." We might ask : 
Why is music, seeking and finding vent through the 
feet, more simple, than that finding utterance through 
the voice or hands? Wholly free from the dancing 
impulse, no musical being can possibly be. A certain 
grave clerical brother, whose piety no one disputes, has 
preached earnestly and ably against the sin of dancing, 
Seated by his side in a certain parlor, where fair hands 
discoursed sweet and cheerful music on a piano, I have 
seen his heels following the time and tune with emphatic 
motion. Possibly, they did it without his order:, or 
knowledge. Still that does not excuse his sinning feet. 

But we are getting away from our Kirmes. In the 
evening the older folks return home, as I return on the 
hay-ladders with my friend and his family. The 
younger keep up their merry-making through the 
greater part of the night. Usually these festivities 
continue for several days. After the first day no 
religious services are held. Although many abuses are 
connected with these anniversaries, much can be said, 
too, in their favor. This is the only social festival, 
where the toiling millions of Germany mingle in 



288 A CONFIRMATION SERVICE IN BERLIN. 

merry, pleasing intercourse with their masters; the only 
season in which religion with its sacred recollections, 
and recreation with its health-giving enjoyments, walk 
hand in hand. Alas! that what originally was enjoyed 
with innocent glee, should so often be turned into a 
means of excessive convivial indulgence. 

An eminent Pontiff of the middle ages compared the 
relation between Church and State to that existing 
between Sun and Moon. God has placed a greater and 
lesser light in the firmament of humanity. The lesser 
receives light from, and is subordinate to the greater. 
A very applicable figure if the planets ou the earth 
would have fixed unchangeable orbits, like those in the 
heavens. But history gives us instances, where their 
orbits have been very eccentric, where they alternately 
made themselves the centres of attraction. 

I was present at a confirmation service in Berlin, 
where several hundred were added to the Church. 
The large building was crowded by many who had 
perhaps not been inside of a church for ten years. 
The services, to me at least, seemed very solemn. The 
candidates evinced a knowledge of Scripture and the 
general rudiments of religion, which was as creditable 
to them as to their instructor. At the close of the ser- 
vices, the parents and friends presented their congratu- 
lations to the catechumens with embraces, and some 
with tears. It was a most touching scene. And yet 
the whole transaction left upon me the painful im- 
pression that the most of them regarded it as a day of 
festive joy, which made them citizens, not of the 
kingdom of God, but of the State. 



THE STATE CHURCH SYSTEM. 289 

When a sovereign befriends a religion, and pays 
large amounts for its extension among his subjects, 
while in his life and practice he tramples under foot 
its holiest and most vital principles, there is some 
ground to question his motives. It is very well that 
the Church should make good subjects, if possible, 
even for wicked rulers. But it is a wicked abuse of 
power, either for corrupt or Christian sovereigns to 
use her as a mere servant of the State, and give her 
such an appearance of dependence that her members lose 
all faith in her divine constitution. This has put a 
weapon into the hands of democratic rationalists. What 
they have said, and still say, that the clergy are the police 
of the State, is still believed by three-fourths of her 
members, though they say it not. It would be hard 
to say that there is not some ground for the charge, 
in their present relations. The State says go, and they 
go. She says do this, and they do it. In the eyes 
of the people this looks as if she derived her existence 
from the State, that at best she can be only a human 
institution, and as such depends wholly for her stability 
and permanence upon the mercy and patronage of the 
same. 

Of course few princes or theologians would avow this 
in theory, but practically it cannot be gainsay ed. Pastors 
may teach and toil never so faithfully, they are har- 
nessed to relations which compel them to administer 
some of the most solemn ordinances of the Church 
with the authority of a "thus saith the State." By 
education and habit and a common every-day philosophy, 
the great bulk have come to look upon religion as a 
qualification for the enjoyment of State privileges, 
19 



290 BONDAGE OF THE STATE OVER THE CHURCH. 

that it is the duty of a good citizen to obey the injunction 
of the civil power, and therefore observe the few Church 
duties which are made obligatory upon him. Rational- 
ism would never have gained such rapid ground, and 
have struck its roots so readily and deeply into the 
heart of society, had the soil not been previously pre- 
pared by a State rationalism, which practically stripped 
the Church of her essentially divine independence and 
self-existent character, and has given the masses the eon~ 
temptible view that all her powers emanated from the 
State. And this is still one of the most formidable 
barriers to the revival of evangelical religion among the 
masses. It dulls the edge of truth, it weakens the 
practical efficiency of the means of grace, it places the 
ministry and the sacraments in a false light before the 
enemies of religion, it forstalls the minds of many 
so as to unfit them for a profitable reception of the 
truth, it lames and cripples the efforts of the ministry 
and throws many beyond the reach of their influence. 
All praise is due to the noble princes, who bear the 
royal stamp of Christian discipleship, who support and 
patronize religion from love to God and their subjects. 

In Prussia the royal family supports all Christian 
institutions with a munificent liberality. But few have 
any conception of the vast amount which is annually 
disbursed for the building of churches, and the support 
of benevolent institutions and Christian associations, 
whose aim is the spread and revival of true religion. 
But even this well meant and pious beneficence, has 
a tendency to cultivate a sense of slothful dependence 
and penurious illiberality in the general membership of 
the Church. It only rocks them into greater apathy 



FRUITS OF THE STATE-CHURCH. SYSTEM. 291 

and spiritual slumber. Their churches, in most cases, 
are built for them, their ministers' salary is paid for 
them, either by the State or out of the general funds 
of the parish treasury. Of course, in most cases the 
money indirectly comes from the Church, paid by the 
general taxes of the membership. But it reaches the 
Church in such a remote, roundabout way, that this 
manner of giving is poorly calculated to kindle and 
cultivate in the heart the divine act of giving. Besides, 
the system of taxation generally is ill-adapted to 
develop practical beneficence; it appeals less to the love 
of Christ which constrains us, than to our respect for 
"the powers that be." The union of Church and 
State, as it exists here, takes the external and financial 
duties of religion in the congregation so much out of 
the hands of the individual Christian, as a member of 
the body of Christ, that it deprives him of a field and 
an occasion for the cultivation of personal charity. Tin's 
is clearly demonstrated by the actual condition of con- 
gregations. 

Recently I became acquainted with a congregation 
of several thousand members, whose pastors are among 
the most pious and able men in Prussia. They worship in 
a magnificent church, with stained-glass windows, guilded 
arches and cornices, which the present King of Prussia, 
in his truly royal kindness, presented to them without 
any expense on their part. Now, however, the building 
needs some slight repairing, which will cost about $300. 
One of the pastors told me that they intend to apply to 
the King for the money. Perhaps one cent from every 
member would cover the whole cost. Many of our 
German brethren cannot conceive how it is possible, 



292 VOLUNTARY SYSTEM OF CHURCH-SUPPORT. 

with the voluutary system, for congregations of five 
hundred or a thousand members, to build a church 
every fifty years, pay the salary of their pastor, and 
the current expenses of the congregation, and besides 
give ten times as much for Missions as parishes here 
which number ten thousand members. Our member- 
ship have room, inducements and appeals for the culti- 
vation of the charities of the Church. By their direct 
contributions to benevolent objects, and by their parti- 
cipation in her business and enterprises, they are trained 
to take and feel a personal interest in her welfare, to 
mourn when she mourns, to rejoice when she rejoices; 
where each one is made to feel that her interests are his 
interests, that her hopes are his hopes, that what he 
does and gives is for the glory of her Head, with which 
he is personally connected. 

The theology of a nation is usually in advance of its 
practical religion. The former furnishes the seed to the 
sower, the latter is the seed sown and growing for the 
harvest. The vigorous evangelical tone which predomi- 
nates in theology, has not yet penetrated "the lump" of 
the Church's membership. Just as the ministry had to 
labor and sow for a long while, before they could 
uncoil the faith and affections of the masses from the 
branches of the tree of life, so now they have to labor 
long before they can untwine their attachment to the tree 
of the knowledge of good and evil. The natural per- 
verseness of the human heart is ready to receive a 
system of religion which will give scope to the gratifi- 
cation of carnal desires. And its prevalence devastates 
and hardens the ground of the heart, that there is little 
left but "way-side," "stony" and "thorny" ground. 



THE "WHEAT AND THE "TARES." 293 

What excellent pungeant sermons these brethen preach ! 
What an unrivalled system of schools they have here 
where all must receive an education, and where the seed 
of God's word is sown from early youth. Many of 
their religious privileges are unevasive, but all glide 
over the hearts of multitudes without point and without 
power. The precious seed, sun-shine and showers of 
God's mercy and love fall upon their hearts much in 
the same way that the sun shines on different objects. 
Some it hardens like mud, whilst others it softens like 
wax. 

The field of religion here is like an unweeded 
garden. There are so many tares in the field that much of 
the wheat plentifully and prayerfully sown, either never 
strikes root, or grows for a short period, and then is 
choked. " While men slept the enemy came and sowed 
the tares." What shall be done with them ? Root 
them up? "Nay, lest while ye gather up the tares, ye 
root up also the wheat with them." This passage has 
never forced itself with such clearness upon my mind as 
during my observations of the state of religion in Ger- 
many. As applied to individual Christians, I have 
seen many cases where the tares and wheat had so 
thoroughly intertwined and entangled their rootlets, 
that the pulling up of one would inevitably have pulled 
up the other. As applied to the hearts of individuals, I 
have had intercourse with many, in whom the tares and 
wheat had so entirely intercoiled their roots into a vital 
tissue, that the removal of the one would have destroyed 
the other. They are persons who stood on the undefinable 
critical boundary between truth and error. Some like the 
rich young man, whom Jesus loved with all his faults, 



294 LET BOTH GROW TOGETHER UNTIL HARVEST. 

others like the one who was "not far from the kingdom 
of God," others like the despised Zaehens, who would 
be willing if properly approached, to make reparation 
for their past misdeeds, and gladly receive the Saviour 
into their house. What shall be done? 

Our German brethren are placed in a critical dilem- 
ma. They have no Church discipline. There is such a 
predominance of tares, such an absence of the spirit of 
discipline, that the general membership has neither a 
consciousness of its necessity, nor taste for its require- 
ments. The want of all discipline is a great calamity, 
but under their circumstances its rigid enforcement 
would result in a still greater evil. It would throw 
three-fourths of their membership hopelessly upon the 
sterile desert of infidelity. The proper and most suc- 
cessful method of the Church to overcome evil has 
always been, not so much to root up as to plant, not so 
much to destroy as to fulfill. The progress and pre- 
dominance of truth will choke error, just as much as the 
spread of tares will hinder the growth of wheat. Truth 
has a diffusive leaven-like vitality. A few seeds may pene- 
trate and permeate large masses of error, and push it from 
its foothold. It may be in the minority, and by Providen- 
tial design is generally among the " little flock," to show 
that it does not depend upon majorities and thrones for 
its power. The discouraging martyrdom of Stephen and 
the crushing persecution which led to it, were the means 
of sending the Gospel into different countries. Its 
defeats are victories, and its retreats lead to glorious 
triumphs. Its apparent ruins are the material for 
kindling fresh powers, its ashes contain vital sparks 
which the most adverse breeze will blow into a flame 



DELIVERANCE FROM STATE BONDAGE. 295 

that will burn itself through the chaff and rubbish of 
ages. 

" Truth crushed to earth will rise again, 

The eternal years of God are her's, 
But error, wounded, writhes in pain 

And dies amid her worshippers." 

The ministry generally long for an emancipation from 
the trammels of the State. Some princes are favorable 
to a greater independence of the Church. Under their 
existing Governments, however, there is no prospect 
for a separation of Church and State, nor would this be 
much to the advantage of religion under the present 
circumstances. But there are many signs of the growth 
of liberal sentiments in favor of the Church, both among 
the rulers and the ruled, which we may safely interpret 
as the dim dawn of a better day, when Caesar shall 
receive the things that are Caesar's, and leave to God the 
things that are God's; when their interests and claims 
shall no longer be so confounded and entangled that 
persons are scarcely able to tell which is which; when 
professing Christians shall no longer be tempted to 
regard baptism as a sign and seal of the powers and 
privileges of the State; and when the rite of confirma- 
tion shall mean something more than the assumption of 
civil obligations which the parents had made in baptism ; 
when their obligations shall involve more than the prom- 
ise of loyalty and allegiance to the State; when those 
who are brought into the Church shall be practically 
taught that they must "fear God," as well as "honor 
the King." God speed the day, 



CHAPTER XV 



CHURCH ATTENDANCE. THE LORDS DAY. THE 

CONFESSIONS OF GERMANY LUTHERAN, RE- 
FORMED AND UNITED CHURCHES. 



Church attendance and the observance of the Sabbath 
are indications of the state of religion among a people. 
It would be unreasonable to expect, in detail, that the 
religions customs of all nations should square with our 
American standard. It would be a mark of sheer igno- 
rance, and of a narrow mind and heart, to apply our 
views as the infallible measure, to which all countries 
and people must conform. But there are general cur- 
rents and facts which we can measure by the general 
standard and spirit of Revelation, without a breach of 
modesty or charity. To pick at freckles because we 
happen to have ours on the other cheek ; to pull at the 
splinters of others, because familiarity has made us lose 
sight of our own, is at best a small business, and a poor 
compliment to the bent of our talents. Perhaps my 
dwelling so much on the shades of the pictures may have 
the appearance of a fault-finding, flaw-picking disposi- 
tion, and will expose me to the imputation of an 
uncharitable fondness for the dissection of bad subjects. 
The picture is not all shade, as the sequel will show. 
And what shade it has I must give, or it will not be a 
true picture. 

It may be, that the general morality of the people, 
296 



CHURCH ATTENDANCE IN GERMANY. 297 

so far as honesty and a refinement of manners is con- 
cerned, is equal to that of our own ; only with this differ- 
ence, that it is mostly a morality and refinement detached 
from Christianity, which needs neither Church, sacra- 
ments, nor any means of grace for its sustenance. In 
the larger towns of northern Germany, so far as I could 
ascertain, about one-twentieth of the members, on an 
average, attend public worship. According to a report 
made in 1851, there were about twenty thousand 
church attendants in Berlin, out of a population of four 
hundred and twenty thousand. Out of its present popu- 
lation of five hundred thousand, there are from thirty to 
thirty-five thousand that attend church. 

I spent a Sabbath in a country village in Prussia of 
eight hundred inhabitants, where the pastor preached to 
twenty-five hearers. One hundred years ago, with less 
than one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, Berlin 
had as many churches as it has noAV. And now it is 
better provided for than it was formerly. Of late years 
a number of churches have been erected, parishes divi- 
ded and sub-divided in different parts of the city. And 
the work is gradually progressing still. Out of forty 
churches, eighteen are supported by the State, and the 
most of the others out of the funds of the city. Several 
smaller congregations outside of the Prussian Church, 
which are not legally recognized by the State, support 
themselves. But what are forty churches for such a 
population? There are parishes here, and I found 
them in other cities too, with only one church building, 
which number from ten to fifty thousand members. 
Until within a few years ago, there was a parish con- 
gregation in this city that numbered eighty thousand 



298 EMPTY AND FULL CHURCHES. 

members, with only two pastors, and another one that 
had sixty thousand members. 

Breslau, with a population of eighty thousand, has 
one church and six pastors less that it had two hundred 
years ago, with a population of twenty-four thousand. 
In Stettin, the capital of the province of Pommern, 
which is counted among the best, one-fourteenth of the 
members attend church. And in two years its criminal 
cases have increased from five to eight hundred. In 
many of the churches in Mecklenburg, noted for its 
ultra Lutheran orthodoxy, the principal Sabbath service 
is attended by from ten to twenty persons. Even 
in Berlin, where there are, comparatively, so few 
churches, many of them, on ordinary occasions, are not 
more than half filled, and some not even that. Churches 
which still retain rationalistic pastors, who feed their 
people on the husks of Christless moralism, have very 
slim audiences. They have starved all religious life out 
of the most of them, and those who have any seek 
better food in other churches. But where the Gospel is 
preached in its purity the churches are too small. If 
the people even had a disposition to attend public 
worship, there would only be room for about the tenth 
part of them. And in this respect the State shows a 
stinting step-motherly penuriousuess, in not furnishing 
an adequate number of churches. 

Notwithstanding the many collateral disadvantages 
under which pastors labor, the earnest, respectful pre- 
sentation of truth commands the attention of even the 
doubting and the scornful. Besides, many after they 
have squandered their spiritual partrimony with riotous 
living, are beginning, like the Prodigal, to discover that 



KAPF, ARNDT AND HOFFMAN. 299 

they have .strayed into a land of famine, where they 
begin "to be in want." Here and there they shyly 
return to seek food for their famishing spirits, in 
the preaching of the word, where their lingering illu- 
sions are dispelled, and a burning power fastens a sense 
of their guilt and misery upon them and drives them to 
the cross. When Kapf, of Stuttgart, in whose character 
are beautifully blended the fearless rigor of Paul, and 
the meekness and love of John, denounces the desecra- 
tion of the Sabbath, and the wickedness in high places, 
and warns men to repent and be converted before the 
judgments of God fall upon them, his large church often 
cannot contain all who press to hear him. When 
Arndt, of this city, preaches on the necessity of repent- 
ance and faith, with a clearness and point that his 
thoughts fall with piercing, unevasive power on one's 
heart, and make even Christians look within with 
trembling fear, hearers flock around him until his large 
church is completely filled. When Hoffman preaches in 
the dome church, with an astonishing boldness, his 
sermons on the New Testament prophecies of the second 
coming of Christ, where, with surgical skill, he thrusts 
his lance into the sores of society, and probes its bruises 
without fear or favor, and prescribes the "balm" which 
alone can heal them, the aisles and pews of the large 
edifice are crowded to the doors. There are those, who, 
with the spirit and courage of Elijah, uncover and 
rebuke the corruption among the higher classes and the 
nobility, and both come to hear them, and profit by 
them, too. The members which are trained and con- 
firmed by such a class of pastors, will mostly become 
pious Christians. 



300 SOLEMN SERVICES OF DEVOUT CHRISTIANS. 

Amid such a pile of wood, hay and stubble, the 
gold, silver and precious stones shine with charming 
splendor. "As night lustre gives to stars," so moral 
night in the world to God's people, who reflect the light 
of Christ. There is a spirit of solemnity, reverence and 
intense devotion in the religious worship of those with 
whom the truth has become a matter of deep earnest 
experience, which I have never met with elsewhere. 
I have sometimes been as much edified by this scene of 
devotion as by the most forcible sermons. Where every 
one approaches the beginning of the services with a 
silent prayer; where the sermon is received with an 
attention that betrays a hungering and thirsting after 
truth; where the prayers of the congregation rise up 
before the Lord amid such breathless silent awe, that 
they seem to come from one heart; where each one 
sings as if his heart had to unburden itself of a load of 
thankfulness to God, for goodness and grace received, 
and where, after they have been dismissed, the whole 
congregation bow their heads in silent prayer; here one 
must feel, and feel it with the profoundest reverence, 
that he is in "the house of God." And when they 
approach the Lord's table, how pungently they examine 
and prepare themselves, what a trembling sense of guilt, 
and yet child-like reliance upon the Saviour for help ! 
Hard must be the heart that could remain un- 
moved and cold amid such a scene. 1 have com- 
muned with them, and often went to see them commune; 
for to see it, is even an edifying Communion. 

Some years ago, an eminent divine said in a public 
address, and his saying has been repeated in a thousand 
forms since; '"The strict observance of Sunday in 



SUNDAY DESECRATION IN HIGH LIFE. 301 

England and North America is unquestionably a prin- 
cipal source of the prosperity of the two freest and 
mightiest nations on the earth." A number of causes 
contribute to the general desecration of Sunday 
here. The very prevalent notion, that it is a mere 
human institution for the benefit of man, which he can 
use as his necessities require in the way of labor, rest, 
religion or amusement; the want of Sunday laws, and 
the non-enforcement of those which they have; the 
influence of the State, and of those who are in authority, 
in making Sunday a work-day, or in furnishing and 
encouraging carnal amusements, have all contributed to 
convert God's holy day into a day of general amusement 
and pleasure. More particularly along the Rhine, and 
in Middle and South Germany, labor is very general, 
and amusement seems to be the great object of the multi- 
tude. Officers parade their armies, whose martial music 
blends in a shrill discord with hymns of solemn praise. 
In many towns nearly all the stores are open. Me- 
chanics work as on other days. Farmers labor in the 
field, and haul grain and hay during harvest. Master 
mechanics compel their apprentices to work, and manu- 
facturers threaten to dismiss their hands if they refuse. 
Some pay higher wages on Sunday, to secure laborers. 
I have been at divine worship, when the voice of the 
preacher could at times not be heard for the rattling of 
omnibuses and wagons. It is true, the law, in most 
parts, requires the cessation of labor and the sale of 
goods during the morning, but it is scarcely ever 
enforced. Railroad companies run extra trains to invite 
and accommodate the multitude of pleasure-seekers. 
Theatres and operas make extra efforts, and have their 



302 SUNDAY FAIRS AND SOCIAL FESTIVITIES. 

best (lays on Sunday. Balls are held and wine and 
beer establishments hold out special inducements, 
where the day is profaned with scenes of revelry. 
In many places Kirchweihe is held on Sunday. Here 
they herd together from a considerable distance, and 
spend the day in drinking and dancing. Out of four 
thousand annual fairs held in Bavaria, twenty-seven 
hundred are held on Sunday and on church festi- 
vals. Whenever of late years the cholera raged in any 
part of Germany, physicians generally reported far more 
cases in the earlier part of the week than the latter, 
which resulted from the dissipation on the Lord's day. 
I would not venture to say so much on the strength of 
my own observation, which has been very considerable, 
had I not the statistics before me. 

" Ah !" said a clerical brother to me lately, " you 
have a public opinion in America, which is worth more 
than all Sunday laws." A very just remark,, and 
where the tree has become old, it is stiff and brittle. A 
public opinion which is the offspring of the gradually 
acquired customs of several centuries, is hard to change. 
And then it has the sanction of the powers that be. 
Sovereigns hold their soirees on Sunday evening, hold 
parties and receive dignitaries in the afternoon. The 
truth is, it is hard to create a public opinion here, or to 
reform a bad one. Where all power emanates from the 
few, the many are not needed, nor trained to take 
any responsible part. The masses are exceedingly slow 
to move. The friends of the Church Diet and Gus- 
tavus Adolphus Society complain that they cannot get 
the masses to act. With us, with a free press, free 
speech, and a tolerable amount of practical sense, we 



DRUNKENNESS. 303 

can reverse the popular opinion of the whole State in a 
few years. But here there is no way to get at it. 
Somehow it sits entrenched behind the thrones. And 
should the press and the pulpit direct their batteries on 
it, they might incur an unpleasant retort. The pulpit, 
in many places, does speak out boldly, but what can it 
do, when so few come within its reach. 

The wine-clad hills of Germany are rich in crops 
and in scenery, but morally they are a fountain of evil 
to society. True, their wine is purer and less injurious 
than that in America, and their beer is said to be supe- 
rior, but still "there is death in the pot." Here again, 
the wealthy, and those in authority, set the example. 
Many spend every evening and Sunday, too, in the 
drinking saloon. By them the custom receives a sanc- 
tion, and the rabble follows. The criminal records 
show, that the most crimes committed on Sunday are 
committed in a state of drunkenness. Out of fifty cases 
of murder, which occurred in Baden during 1847, 
forty-five were committed on the Lord's day, in a state 
of intoxication. Here as in America prisons get their 
recruits from the taverns. Says a great and good man of 
South Germany, " I shudder when I think of the scenes 
of horror, of the godless strife, and contention which 
transpire in these dens of sensuality. Here it is, where 
a large number of our people receive their education, 
where they are taught to abandon all self-respect, and 
degrade themselves to a level with the irrational brute. 
Here is the black fountain of vice and crime; the rock 
on which many a happy family has made eternal ship- 
wreck. And why do our governments refuse to stem 
this tide, and stop this fountain of woe? Many of those 



304 THE BANE OP SOCIETY 

in authority maintain that we durst not deprive the 
people of these enjoyments, that the State cannot forfeit 
the revenue which taverns furnish. Such views are a 
relic of that blindness which always attends a want of 
vital interest in Christianity. I will not unroll the sad 
picture, over which angels weep, the scenes of wild 
intoxication, of fightings and frivolous speech, which 
mock God and eternity, of men who stagger home at 
midnight, and with brutal cruelty abuse wife and chil- 
dren, of youths who are tempted and lured into paths 
of frivolity, infidelity and vice, by the power of bad 
example and debauched associates. And on what day 
does Satan celebrate most of his triumphs? On the 
Lord's day. O, who can estimate the number of tender 
and most promising plants, once in the Garden of the 
Lord, which have been swept away and destroyed by 
this flood of wine, beer and whiskey? What a deposit 
of corruption it has flooded over our domestic and public 
life! Could a Brahmin witness some of these scenes 
only for one hour, he would wonder why the Christian 
religion should be preferred to that of the Hindoos." 

Some thirty years ago, Frederick William III, the 
father of the present ruler of Prussia, seeing that the 
confessional controversies between the Lutheran and 
Reformed Churches had apparently subsided, and both 
denominations seemed to be on friendly terms every- 
where, he, with the assistance of theologians of that 
time, concluded that the period had arrived when both 
could be re-united, and an end be put to the strife. The 
King from noble motives, for it was a grand object, 
had the union consummated throughout his Kingdom, 
and made it the Church legally recognized by the State. 



UNION OP GERMAN PROTESTANTISM. 305 

Though at the time the effort seemed to succeed remark- 
ably well, feeble individual protests were raised in 
different quarters, a few shrugged their shoulders or 
whispered complaints of coercion, but not so as mate- 
rially to hinder the work. Congregations unwilling to 
submit were not persecuted, but a variety of means 
were used to conciliate them to the measure. The 
matter became very general throughout Prussia. After- 
wards a number of other Princes of Germany intro- 
duced it among their subjects. The importance and 
benevolent design of the work, enlisted the affections 
and talents of some of the greatest men of Germany, 
whose learning has enriched the theology of both hemi- 
spheres. And its present defenders are principally men 
of enlarged liberal views, who, while they breathe a 
Catholic spirit, are decidedly evangelical. Some of 
them sacrifice their earthly comforts and hopes, and 
their lives too, in its behalf. 

At the consummation of the union, the prevalence of 
Rationalism in every department of science, had infused 
a spirit of torpor into German Protestantism, a lethargy 
which was insensible to denominational distinctions. It 
was not an agreement or positive reconciliation of the 
two Confessions, but total indifference to all that is 
positive in Christianity, which made the union possible. 
Like two combatants, who in the heat of the conflict 
partake of a drug which enervates their physical powers, 
and puts them to sleep while the difficulty remains 
unsettled, so these two Churches, by partaking too 
freely of a dangerous Theology, fell into a deep sleep, 
when of course they laid aside the weapons and the 
occasion of their warfare. They had not only lost their 
20 



306 PROTESTS AGAINST A PREMATURE UNION. 

denominational consciousness, but the vital conscious- 
ness of the Church. But with the revival of a posi- 
tive Theology, their distinctive consciousness returned. 
During that earnest and intensely momentous battle for 
truth, the Theology of the Reformation was brought 
from the shelf, and its symbolical and doctrinal dis- 
tinctions thoroughly studied. This roused many from 
their lethargic slumbers and kindled in them a prefer- 
ence, from conviction, for one or the other. Then the 
Lutheran and - Reformed elements re-asserted their 
principles, if not publicly, at least with the muttering 
speech of half-suppressed conviction. The Lutherans 
now complain that they are forced to administer the 
Lord's Supper with a liturgical formula in which they 
cannot believe. And the Reformed, though more 
reconciled, complain of a similar coercion. They are 
told, that they may have their private views and still 
conform to the Liturgy, but this would require a dupli- 
city which would reflect little credit upon their 
sincerity. Some of the ablest works in modern The- 
ology have been called forth by the re-appearance of 
these conflicts, and were fondly hoped by many to 
furnish a quietus, or at least a plaster, to connect the 
fissure which was threatening to widen into a split. 
J3ut neither quietus, palliative, poultice, nor plaster, 
have effected a cure. 

The Lutherans in northern Germay complain to me 
that in Hesse, which before the union was almost 
entirely Reformed, the Lutheran element was becoming 
rapidly supplanted by the Reformed. And yet the 
Hessian pastors complained mournfully to me of their 
uncomfortable situation, and many long to get back to 



ECCLESIASTICAL UNEASINESS. 307 

the Reformed Church. In Prussia, the prevalence of 
the high-Lutheran element is a fact of general notoriety. 
Some of the periodicals boast, that the Prussian Church 
is all Lutheran but in name. The few men who 
principally control the external interest of the Church, 
are persons who out-luther Luther. This element is 
opposed by the Reformed and the liberal union men, 
who labor to avoid a breach. Both eye each other with 
sleepless vigilance. But that this Prussian Church is 
heaving with the tumult of conflicting principles, that 
she carries in her bosom the war of two elements, which, 
if she does not pacify and harmonize, will lead to serious 
consequences, is a truth which admits of no dispute. 
And their claims cannot be smothered or repressed by 
the sway of the royal sceptre, but demand their vital 
adjustment. It is no longer a secret, but published 
even in papers friendly to her interests, that "she is tot- 
tering to her very centre." 

Had the posture of Theology, during the reign of 
Frederick William III, been what it is now, neither the 
powers that be, nor the threatenings of those which are to 
come, could have brought about the union. And I feel 
confident if the two Confessions were disentangled now, 
that all the learned men of Germany, with Frederick 
William IV", and his whole army to back them, could 
not bring them together. It is sad enough that the 
two bodies contain such irreconcilable principles, but to 
bind them together, while they cannot be together in 
peace, and make their union a race and rivalry of Con- 
fessions, is still worse. Had the project succeeded — 
it may succeed still — the union of the two leading 
Churches of the Reformation would have been one of 
the greatest events in modern church history, second 



308 ECCLESIASTICAL FRICTION. 

only to that of the Reformation. After two limbs have 
once grown out of the stem, though they grow side by 
side, it is hard to unite them again. You may bandage 
them together externally, and during the slumbering of 
vegetable life in winter, they may lay quietly together, 
but when the spring awakens in them fresh budding 
powers, and expands their bark and tissue, their union 
may torture and wound their rind, but will never make 
them coalesce. It will only provoke mutual irritation, 
and will cripple their growth, so that with extra atten- 
dance they will bear less fruit, than if they were left 
apart. And if you try to unite two trees by grafting, 
the life and fruit of the future graft will not be a union 
of both, but that of one. The stem in which the graft 
is put, may help to nourish and support it, but its iden- 
tity is lost in the leaves and fruit, and gets little credit 
for either of them. 

It is easier to produce a division in the Church, than 
to heal one. And the man, or set of men, be it king 
or subject, who could re-unite two branches of the 
Church, would certainly accomplish a greater work 
than the conquest "of the mightiest Kingdom. This 
failure of a perfect reconciliation of the two elements, 
thus far points us to the manner in which their union 
originated. It did not grow out of a pre-existing 
adaptation, out of an agreement of positive doctrines, 
or any vital and mutual attraction between the two 
bodies as such. The union was made, and ist nieht 
geicorden, like the Reformation, where men were but 
instruments, which obeyed the dictates of principles 
and wants that were beyond their control. Advantage 
was taken of the general lassitude of the Church, and 
her passive indifferent submission was mistaken for a 



A CUTTING OF THE GORDION KNOT. 309 

settlement of the whole difficulty. It seems to me 
the subsequent history of the union, especially since 
the revival of orthodoxy, where the two elements, 
though led into one channel, refused to commingle 
and coalesce, shows that the step was premature. That 
such a union will take place in the future, is a hope 
which we fondly cherish. But whenever that auspicious 
event shall arrive, it will not he made, but will grow 
out of a harmony of principles, and a positive attraction 
of their inmost life. 

I deeply regret that a nearer acquaintance with the 
United Evangelical Church of Germany has shaken 
my confidence in her constitution, and dispelled many 
fond hopes which I cherished in her future mission. 
In the present divided state of Protestantism, it 
would be a great comfort to discern in her but one 
initiatory step towards the settlement of confessional 
strife, and the harmonious union of the two oldest 
Churches of the Reformation. From my present impres- 
sions, I cannot help but regard it, both in its origin 
and continuation, as a cutting of the Gordion Knot, 
and not a solution of the problem of church union. 
I should be very glad to find these statements erroneous. 
I made her acquaintance through men, whose life and 
inestimable labors are intimately identified with her his- 
tory and destiny, whose learning, adorned with deep- 
toned piety, will ever make them bright ornaments in the 
history of the Church. We form our attachments to par- 
ticular institutions, not so much from an estimate of their 
general merits or demerits, as from their ruling person- 
alties. Thus my confidence and hope in this union were 
kindled by the works and personal acquaintance of some 
of its leading spirits. 



CHAPTER X V J. 



THE RATIONALISM OF GERMANY. GOVERNMENTAL 

AND POLICE REGULATIONS. ITS BLOODY 

AND BRAVE BATTLES. 



There is ;i striking analogy between the present 
state of the German and that of the Anglican Church 
of the last century; daring the age of fox-hunting 

parsons, when the dominant party stifled all religious 
life by trying to force and fit it into her formularies, 
when preachers studiously abstained from touching on 
human depravity and the necessity of regeneration as 
subjects fit only for fanatics and dissenters, though they 
had to pray and sing them every Sunday; when their 
sermons were a gentle soporific service that put their easy 
congregations to sleep, mumbling them off in such an un- 
concerned monotonous style, that the most solemn truths 
would fall upon the hearts of their hearers " like drops 
of opium on leaves of lead;" with whom orthodoxy 
was hatred of Methodism, and conformity to Anglican- 
ism certain salvation. I have elsewhere spoken of the 
earnest, pungent style of preaching among a certain class 
of German pastors, so that I will not be misunderstood. 
Should the high-Church principle triumph, and an 
effort be made to make it universally dominant, its 
narrow channel will overflow the moment that the 
Spirit of God will disturb the waters, just as it did 
in the Anglican Church, and make itself a new channel. 

310 



OLYMPUS AND MOUNT ZION. 31 1 

Evil is often forced unwillingly to serve the good. 
Goethe's impersonation of evil says: 

" Ich bin ein Thoil von jener Kraft, 

Die stets das Boese ineint, nnd stets das <«nte schafft." 

This trial of principles in the sphere of Philosophy 
and Theology in Germany, has been vigorouly prose- 
cuted for more than a century. To examine its merits 
from a modern point of view, or measure it according 
to the present standard of science in England or 
America, would be unphilosophical and unfair. It can 
only be understood and appreciated from the point 
of view — the age, country and natural psychology — 
around and in which it occurred. Only when we 
understand the history out of which these principles 
grew, and their tenacious vitality as grown out of, 
and into, the heart of the past; when we understand 
the political relations which partly manacled the func- 
tions of the Church, and the torpid, earthly condition 
of the masses consequent upon the thirty years' war and 
its fertility for evil; when we bear in mind that 
Philosophy had fled from Mount Zion to Olympus, and 
got its weapons from pagan systems instead of the 
Bible, that Poetry, instead of courting the muses of 
Zion, drew its inspirations from Parnassus, and re-dis- 
tilled them into popular poems, suited for modern 
palates; when we remember that the battle against 
Infidelity in the sphere of science was won under 
such circumstances, we will see that its lustre eclipses 
the grandest victories of modern times. The immense 
disadvantages under which it was achieved, admonish 
us to judge the imperfections consequent upon the wide- 



312 THE GERMANS ARE FRIENDS OF FREEDOM. 

spread devastation of the battle, with the eye of charity. 

It is with the Church as with individuals. Long does 

she bear the half-healed sears which she receives in her 

militant eonflicts. 

" What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
The heart bleeds longest, and hut heals to wear 
That which disfigures it." 

Some one has said that Governments are like coals ; 
they answer very well for those who are large or small 
enough to wear them. To give the Germans or French 
a Republican form of Government in their present 
condition, would be as poor a fit as the armor of Saul 
on the person of David. During their earlier history, 
they had strict Republican regulations. While they 
yet roved as the wild children of the North, a terror 
to civilized nations, the leaders of their clans were 
chosen by the people. And through all their trying 
vicissitudes, their love of liberty has not been extin- 
guished unto this day, only that with many it has 
degenerated into a love of lawlessness. The security of 
social order could not bear much relaxation of the rei is 
of government in their present condition. They have 
become so accustomed to have others to do their ruling 
for them, so trained to the paternal system, that if they 
were suddenly fledged, they would fall flat to the earth. 

Pauperism, wherever there is any, cannot obtrude 
itself upon travelers or the general public. Every 
parish must provide for its poor. Begging is strictly 
prohibited, because the poor are amply provided for 
otherwise. And these Gens d'armesare very useful ser- 
vants of society. Their diligent vigilance which is 
constantly on the alert for the disturbers of the public 



POLICE REGULATIONS. 31 3 

peace, and their skill in feretting out every variety 
of professional, gentlemanly robbers, secures a degree 
of safety to a traveler, which more than compensates for 
any little inconvenience which they may occasion. 
A pickpocket has no place yet on the criminal calendar 
of Germany. A good police is an indispensable wheel 
in every well regulated Government. That they some- 
times deal with travelers in a somewhat summary style, 
is not their fault. If they demand your passport, it is 
often with a seeming reluctance, and always with a 
courteous bow. When I first arrived in this city, the 
person before whom I passed muster, only looked at 
the outside, and then returned my passport without 
opening it, for which perhaps his ignorance of the 
English was entitled to more praise than his intrinsic 
leniency. And afterwards an athletic German, whose 
month was concealed beneath a bushy moustache, called 
on me to translate my passport for him, so that he could 
furnish me with a permit for a temporary residence in 
Berlin, and asked half a dozen pardons for his obtrusion. 
All praise to men, whose keen scent and iron grasp the 
most cunning rogue cannot elude, who sweep from the 
streets the daring confusion of wicked youth and poor 
drunkards, (where they are kept I know not,) whose 
courteous, gentlemanly manners can render the otherwise 
unrepublican severity of the police regulations unoffen- 
sive even to a republican. 

The general complexion of society looks not a whit 
more sad and oppressed than ours. Socially, the people 
look as free as we do. Nothing to remind one of chains. 
No political spies or caves-droppers that peep through 
the key-hole, or culinary censors to prescribe dishes. 



314 THE BURDENS OF TAXATION. 

No proscription of republican roast-beef, nor compulsion 
to eat sour-krout. The children laugh, skip, and are 
happy, and their parents love and caress them with the 
same tenderness as they do in other countries. Every 
man is the sole owner of his person, property and 
money, provided he gets honestly by it. 

Taxes are enormously high, but how can it be 
otherwise, where there are no public lands as a source of 
revenue, where the immense governmental expenses 
must all be paid by means of taxation. Their standing 
armies are an important item of expense. In addition 
to those in the regular service, there is a large number 
of superanuated officers, who receive pensions during 
life. Such a large number of non-producers, who not 
only live off the government without giving it any- 
thing in return, but are parasites on the body politic, 
are an immense burden to a nation. Common-sized 
towns have a garrison of from five to ten thousand. 
Berlin has over fifteen thousand. All they do, except 
during war, from one generation to another, is to be 
drilled, parade, and indulge in those vices which are the 
offspring of idleness. These they bring with them 
from the army into private life, which often leave 
an indelible blot upon their character. In countries 
where neither rank nor fortune furnish an exemption 
from military service, this tends greatly to vitiate public 
morals. During the existence of the Germanic Empire, 
there were not so many rival and conflicting interests 
to protect, and therefore less need for so large a standing 
army. But after the dissolution of the Empire into 
so many petty sovereignties, furnishing temptation 
to all the mutual jealousies and suspicions, inseparable 



THE ERUPTION OF THE BARBARIANS. 315 

from a close proximity of rival powers, each had its 
standing army in time of peace and war. 

There is a peculiar charm in the early history 
of nations, when they first come upon the theatre of 
history proper, which often possesses greater attractions 
tor the student of humanity than the subsequent 
achievements of their more civilized existence. What a 
marvellous and mighty phenomenon were those innu- 
merable hordes, emerging from the undiscovered wilder- 
ness of the North, whose unexpected appearance startled 
the Roman Empire; as if some hitherto untrodden part 
of the earth suddenly swarmed with a new race, which 
like, the locusts of Egypt rolled from country to coun- 
try, leaving ruin in their track ! Pagans by birth and 
training, they brought with them from their unknown 
homes virtues that eclipsed many in the Christian 
Church; a bravery which all the civilization and prestige 
of proud Rome could not subdue; a respect for and 
social elevation of woman which no other heathen nation 
possessed; and Treue and Gemuethlichkeit, terms for 
which the English has no equivalent, all virtues which 
are indigenous to the Germanic character. What a 
tremendous fact that migration of nations was! The 
introduction of a new tributary into the stream of 
history. How the proud Empire of Rome crumbled 
away before its resistless masses, and how at last an 
untutored Barbarism triumphed over civilization, that 
the latter might mingle with its leaven, and transform it! 
And what a boiling and heaving commotion in the 
stream of Church History, while these crude elements 
were being assimilated; and though brave enough to 
conquer the mightiest kingdom on the earth, how 



316 THE CONQUERERS CONQUERED. 

meekly the conquerors bow and submit to the sceptre of 
the Christian religion offered by the conquered ! How 
one sees the hand of divine Providence, bringing these 
barbarians, like the rough unhewn blocks from the 
quarries of untamed nature, into the bosom of the 
Church, to dress and fit them for the great building 
of His Kingdom. At a time when the decrepid 
civilization of Rome was tottering with infirmities, how 
important the introduction of the element of an incipi- 
ent nationality, which in a short time succeeded to the 
rule of Church and State. And then what colossal 
personalities loom up in the subsequent history of the 
Church! Charlemagne, Barbarossa, and a number of 
others, who, with all the dross of mortal imperfection 
that clave to them, belong to the grandest characters 
of the world's history. After the founding of the 
German Empire by Charlemagne, A. D., 800, Germany 
became the most important theatre of Church History. 
Here those political, moral, and religious battles of the 
Middle Ages were chiefly fought. Principles found 
their representatives and defenders in men — mortal, 
fallible men — who settled their claims by the sword or 
the word, as circumstances would permit. 

Germany has a hard experience behind it. Few 
towns that cannot point to some adjoining battle-field, 
whose houses have not at some time been razed to 
earth, or their soil enriched by human gore. When the 
thirty years' war commenced, that part east of the 
Rhine had a population of seventeen millions ; when it 
ended there were four millions left. Some towns were 
totally destroyed, others so nearly that the few survi- 
vors used the remaining battered timber for firewood, 



TREUE UND GEMUETHLICHKEIT. 317 

until but a few dwellings were left. Depopulated 
country villages left large districts without owners and 
cultivation. This mighty German Empire has existed 
for one thousand years, in spite of its social, political 
and religious convulsions. We are told that its fifty 
Emperors exhibited not one tyrant, and not one fell 
a victim to the fury or treachery of the people. And 
the virtues which they brought from their Northern 
forests, have survived every hurricane of trial. Still 
the German is distinguished for his Treue and Gemueth- 
lichkeit. The former enables him to be faithful to his 
promises, and firm in his adherence to principles ; the 
latter to be warm, genial, frank, and true in his friend- 
ships. Had the nation been of a mean, servile spirit, 
reckless of every principle of right and honor, they 
might have enjoyed a disgraceful tranquility long ago. 
After the dissolution of the Empire at the beginning 
of the present century, thirty-eight of the independent 
sovereigns, including Prussia and Austria, and the four 
free towns, Frankfort, Bremen, Hamburg and Luebeck, 
formed the German Confederation. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



GERMAN UNIVERSITIES AND STUDENTS. CHURCH 

BUILDINGS. FORMS OP WORSHIP. CHARITABLE 

INSTITUTIONS. HENGSTENBERG, NITZSCH, 

RITTER, AND ULLMAN. 



The morality of a nation is, to a great extent, 
moulded by its schools. The twenty-four German 
Universities, with more than one thousand Professors, 
are fountains which course their waters in numberless 
streams through the society. In a country where the 
civil Government is so authoritative and paternal, one 
would expect these institutions to be models of academi- 
cal order. But it is just the opposite. The students 
are the most privileged class in the country, and in 
several Universities among its greatest outlaws. If our 
students would take such liberties, they would be 
forever banished from American colleges. The students 
at Oxford give a grave, dignified complexion to the 
whole city. Their square caps, long robes, and manly 
deportment in passing along the streets and in their 
colleges, impress a stranger with profound respect for 
the government and morals of the University. The 
motto over the entrance of one of the colleges, " Man- 
ners make the man," seems to be the guiding star of 
general conduct. Here, however, it is often the reverse. 
Even many who expect to assume more dignified 
habits in after life, will join in the lawless excesses of 

318 



CONDUCT OF STUDENTS. 319 

the students with unwonted freedom. In Germany, 
with the exception of Berlin, perhaps, the students 
impart an undignified and libertine complexion to the 
town. In Heidelberg, Tuebingen and Goettingen 
they fight duels almost every day, some days three 
and four. Many faces bear the marks of their folly. 
More recently, societies have been formed among them 
for their suppression. Several months ago, one hundred 
and fifty students of Heidelberg went to a neighboring 
country village, and after getting on a "rausch," they 
outraged the quiet villagers, who resented their insults. 
The following day they made preparations for a more 
successful battle, but the Board, with the aid of a strong 
police, prevented their execution. The Board of the 
University then determined to break up their duelling 
clubs, and compelled them to surrender their badges. 
Fearful that the police would not be able to enforce 
submission, they were reinforced by a regiment from 
Mannheim. The riotous students marched to the proper 
authorities, each leading with him his dog, which animal 
most of them possess, around whose neck he had tied 
his badge. The Board were obliged to receive their 
colors from the hounds. They were severely assailed 
from various quarters for infringing upon students' 
rights. 

The students are notorious beer-swillers. When a 
lad drinks beer with a keen relish, it is common to say, 
"he will make a good student." Crowds of them 
spend whole weeks, from morning till night, in the 
" beer-kneipen." One of their number boasted to me, 
that some evenings he drank fifteen mugs of beer 
without any injury. And his tub-shaped body showed 



320 FIGHTING DUELS. 

its distending powers. Universities are liberally pat- 
ronized by the Sovereigns. They seem to respect the 
students and humor them in their follies, for they have 
in them the future leaders of the masses. They hold 
liberty meetings with impunity, and indulge in acts 
which would bring common citizens into prison. Here 
lawyers, physicians and statesmen receive their train- 
ing. With few exceptions, they mock, in word and 
practice, at all serious experimental religion, and the 
masses are glad that they have the example of learned 
men to sanction their want of godliness. An educa- 
ted man must have had firm, religious habits, if his 
morals have not been poisoned at the University. Of 
course theologians constitute a society among themselves, 
and are not exposed to the same temptation. A friend 
of mine told me, that he once received a challenge, 
theologian as he was. He said he could not refuse; for 
that would have exposed him to the derision and con- 
tempt of the circle in which he delighted to move. 
They appointed the hour, and as a preliminary he told 
his second to fix up a target mark for him, into which he 
drove the nail, and thereby gave his enemy such a dread 
of his skill as a marksman, that they dropped the 
difficulty. Even for theologians, he said, the safest 
plan is to become skillful in the use of the sword 
and fire-arms, if possible, so as to give others a dread 
of your powers. 

The church architecture of Germany is far more 
solid and durable, but less eomfortable than ours. Its 
buildings are designed to stand at least five hundred 
years. Some in present use have come down from 
the eighth and tenth century. Many are a mixture 



INCONVENIENT CHURCHES. 321 

of different styles, few are purely Gothic. Much as I 
admire the latter as the Christian style of architecture, 
it is far less adapted for Protestant than for Catholic 
worship. For the Catholic Church, which puts the 
pulpit below the altar, the choir and transcepts, the 
lofty pointed arches and massive columns have a mean- 
ing, and present no impediments to the worshippers. 
Where half a dozen priests officiate at different altars 
at the same time, and where the congregation comes 
less to hear than to sacrifice, they are perfectly in 
place. But what can Protestantism do with the choir ? 
We have no high altar. Where the sermon is the 
principal part of the service, the pulpit should be 
within sight and hearing of the congregation. But 
the columns conceal the preacher from many, and his 
words are lost in the high arches before they 
reach half his hearers. Many of the grandest spe- 
cimens of Gothic architecture were built and used 
by the Catholics, and at the Reformation were con- 
verted into Protestant churches. The choir has either 
been filled with seats or converted' into a sacristy. 
The transcepts are mostly left vacant, and the shrines 
in the side chapels have been displaced by some 
faded mediaeval painting, or the bare walls. The 
pulpit is left where the Catholic Church has placed 
it, at the side of the narrow nave, often attached 
to the breast of a side gallery, or even in the centre 
of the church sometimes. Generally all on and 
under the one gallery, are behind the preacher. And 
the nave being proportionally narrow and long, he 
has the body of his congregation almost directly to 
his right and left, and but a small part of 
21 



322 UNCOMFORTABLE CHURCHES. 

them before him. In some churches half of the 
congregation cannot intelligibly hear the sermon. The 
same objection applies to the Anglican Church. In 
all their larger churches a person has to be very 
near the pulpit or desk to understand the minister. 

The element of convenience and ease is considerably 
neglected in the constructing and furnishing of churches. 
According to the American standard the religious 
worship here would be pronounced uncomfortable. 
They have no cushioned pews, but rich and poor sit 
on the bare wood, and seem to worship as contentedly 
as the five hundred dollar pew holders in some 
New York churches. They have no spittoons, would 
not for a moment tolerate such receptacles of defilement 
in the sanctuary. Few churches ever have any fire 
during the winter. How these people can devoutly 
worship several hours without injury in churches 
with uncarpeted pavements, amid such a vast amount 
of stone work, which seems as cold as walls of ice, 
is a mystery to me. Some can wrap themselves 
in their furs, but many must come sparingly clad. 

The German Churches still retain much of the 
liturgical spirit of the Reformation. The use of a 
good Liturgy produces uniformity in worship, and 
prevents the hap-hazard random habit of mind, 
which profanes our approaches to God and distracts 
the simple devotion of worshippers. Their Liturgies 
are generally very good ; clear and expressive, without 
being mechanical ; simple, yet dignified, brief, yet 
comprehensive. Much depends upon the liturgical 
temperament of the officiating clergyman. Some run 
over them in such a mechanical by-rote style, that 



LITURGICAL WORSHIP. 323 

they become more of a hindrance than a help to 
devotion. Many of the Anglican pastors drag their 
flocks through a drawling, monotonous recitation of 
their excellent service, so that in spite of one's 
desire to inhale its unction, and worship in its spirit, 
it becomes a wearisome mechanism, that inspires dull- 
ness rather than devotion. These German brethren, 
however, have most excellent liturgical talents. Their 
native geniality (Gemuethiichkeit) already adapts 
them for it. Their liturgical services are generally 
free from the recitative and mechanical, of course 
excepting rationalists, who often make it a mock 
service, a mere lip business. They do not labor to 
throw life into it, but permit its own life to come out. 

They also differ from the Anglicans in their style 
of preaching. The latter almost invariably read their 
sermons in the same recitative, unmodulated tone 
of voice with which they perform the liturgical service. 
Their Episcopal brethren in America are far more 
free from liturgical defects. I have never heard a 
read sermon in Germany — have not even seen any 
notes before the preacher. They seem to enter the 
pulpit in the fullness of their subject, and speak as 
if they wished to be understood and felt. They are 
less given to textual preaching than we, on isolated 
Scripture passages. They preach more on the facts 
of Christianity. In homiletics they dispose of their 
subjects more by analysis than synthesis, bringing 
out what is in them, rather than drag into them 
what is outside. Many abound with apt illustrations 
and pious . wit. Their style is generally clear and 
unevasively pointed. What they have to say, is told 



324 STYLE OF PREACHING. 

in simple, unambiguous language, in the Volkssprache 
of Luther. The "objective" or "subjective," "the 
abstract" or " concrete," " predestination" or " repro- 
bation," are terms which seldom occur in their sermons. 
They are alike free from technicalities and cant. They 
point and aim their weapons with faultless skill. 
"Allen den Frieden, den Lastern Krieg." They have 
neither two much light like the Scotch, nor too little 
warmth like the Anglican Church, nor do they send 
their thunder before the lightning, like many of the 
Methodists. They blend the instructive with the 
awakening, reason with fervor. And the present low 
state of religion, in spite of their superior preaching, 
only shows how difficult it is to bring the people 
under the influence of the preached word. 

The ministry generally receive a competent support, 
not only during actual service, but after they are worn 
out. They are not harassed by the anticipated anxieties 
of dependence and want in after life. But their situa- 
tion, while in the active field, is no sincecure. While 
the pastor in the humblest country parish ministers 
to his flock through the various ordinances, he must 
keep pace with the progress of German Theology. 
And in this war of systems, amid these resurrections 
of old and decay of new theories, this is not an easy 
task. 

In modern times the German Church has made 
laudable efforts for the revival of the institutions of 
deaconesses, in the sense of the Apostolic Church. 
Their work and mission corresponds with that of 
the Sisters of Charity in the Catholic Church — to 
nurse the sick, and labor for the amelioration of the 



THE BETHANY ASYLUM AT BERLIN. 325 

suffering poor. They have several large institutions 
where females are educated for their office. It is 
refreshing to visit some of the hospitals under their 
care, where they give a comfortable home to the 
friendless aud homeless sufferer, moving around the 
couch of distress like angels of mercy, and while they 
minister to their bodily wants, tell them of the "balm 
in Gilead" and "the bread of life." In the suburbs 
of this city they have a large establishment, very 
appropriately called Bethany. In passing through ha 
several apartments, and observing the comfortable con- 
dition of its inmates aud the sympathy and unremitting 
care bestowed upon them, I thought how sweet such 
tender attendance must taste to those who cannot 
enjoy the kindness of a mother's love. And then 
to see these ladies from pure love to the Saviour, and 
pity for the distressed, make a voluntary sacrifice of 
all the present and prospective social privileges of 
their sex, literally leaving father and mother, sister 
and brother, to spend their days in acts of unrenu- 
merated well-doing! Ah, there is a meaning in such 
a profession of religion. There is a neat chapel con- 
nected with the main building, where I attended 
worship on Sunday afternoon. Forty of the Sisters 
were present, all dressed in black, with white caps. 
There was nothing ascetic or gloomy in their appear- 
ance. They looked so happy and contented, so serenely 
cheerful, and sang their melodies of praise with such 
manifest joy, as if they felt eager to give utterance 
to the praise of their grateful hearts. A holy atmos- 
phere seemed to hover around the place, and the 
silent awe that pervaded the services, indicated the 



326 PRECONCEIVED NOTIONS OF GREAT MEN. 

hallowing presence of Him who dispenses mercies to 
the merciful. 

There is a peculiar interest in forming the personal 
acquaintance of men, whose learning and spirit one 
has previously enjoyed, and communed with through 
their writings. And as we ponder for days and weeks 
with intense interest over their precious pages, we 
unconsciously form in our minds an image of their 
manners and appearance. But how often, when we 
approach them face to face, must we throw aside our 
mental man, as a spurious likeness, and strive, with 
no little effort, to convince ourselves that the one 
we see is after all the man. Thus my imaginary 
portrait of Hengstenberg represented him as a grey- 
headed veteran, whose life was fast waning towards 
evening. So firmly had this image impressed itself 
upon my mind, that an evening of the most friendly, 
familiar conversation with him could not shake off 
my doubts, whether after all he was not another man. 
It seemed incredible that he should still be in the 
prime of life, of such a bland, affable, personal appear- 
ance, with a face that looks as if no cloud had ever 
flitted athwart its brow. The bitter uncompromising 
polemic seems a very unsuitable tenant for such a 
John-like physiognomy. 

In person he is above medium height, somewhat 
inclined to corpulency, with a pleasant, oval face, that 
seems to beam with good will to all men. His man- 
ners, without any perceptible effort, indicate the graces 
of a polished gentleman. His tidy dress, arranged 
with faultless precision, shows that he or somebody 
else is not wholly unmindful of the outward man. 



DR. ERNST WILLIAM HENGSTENBERG. 327 

He is a very good-looking man by nature, and of 
course art will not make him less so. In this respect 
he differs widely from his great compeer Stahl, in 
whose puny, awkward person the sparing hand of 
nature will peep through all the outward polish and 
tinsels of art. Hengstenberg has a clear, musical 
voice, and a free, fluent delivery ; the very opposite 
to Stahl's lisping speech and weak, unsonorous accents. 
His lecture-room is crowded with attentive hearers. 
All his lectures bear the stamp of thoroughness. In 
dissecting and unravelling the intricate theories of 
Rationalism, he sometimes resorts to the use of sarcasm, 
and often dismisses the dismembered subject with the 
gibe of ridicule. He knows no medium or affinity 
between the two Confessions, and is strenuously opposed 
to the Synodical and representative form of church 
polity. Religion as well as ruling must be done for 
and given to the people, but not done through them. 
The Government must give the people their Church, 
and manage it for them. Why, he says to me, what 
can we expect from the people at present constituting 
the' congregations? If we leave it to their choice, a 
large part would vote away the Bible and all true 
religion as superstition and nonsense. They would 
elect Satan as their pastor. Which is not without its 
truth under existing circumstances. 

Nitzsch is altogether of a different stamp. Consid- 
erable beyond the meridian of life, his seemingly 
uncombed, bushy hair, fast turning gray, and his care- 
worn features, indicate the severe student. When he 
lectures or preaches his trembling hands (he seems to 
be v(.ry nervous) apparently embarrass his manners. 



328 DR. NITZ'XH. 

Though lacking animation and fluency, be is a very 
instructive, and even impressive preacher. His ser- 
mons are elaborate, yet clear and simple. He tries 
to win his hearers more by entreaty than threatening, 
more by holding up before them the love of God and 
the beauties of holiness than the terrors of the Law 
and the vileness of evil. He has a familiar conversa- 
tional style. You cannot help but feel that he wishes 
you well. He leans forward upon his crossed arms 
on the pulpit, with the air of a man who would sav, 
"Come now, let us reason together." Sometimes he 
will press his hands and look at them in a half* vacant 
manner, as if his mind were wandering, while he 
entreats with paternal anxiety. He speaks to his 
hearers with such child-like, unpolcmical simplicity, 
that he seems to forget the theologian in his pious 
ardor "to persuade men." He has labored hard for 
the union of the two Churches, and this is still the 
burden and object of his anxieties. I shall never 
forget the .last sermon I heard him preach. It was 
during the meeting of a convention of ministers from 
the whole Kingdom, which many had hoped would 
warmly support the Union. But to the grief of its 
friends, a few days' deliberation proved the contrary. 
He preached on J Cor. 3: 21-23, words into which 
he poured the emotions of his plaintive spirit with 
melancholy eloquence. How his mourning heart grieved 
over the hindrances to Christian sympathy, how he 
spoke of the duty and pleasantness of a forgiving, 
forbearing communion of Christians, and the bliss of 
its final, complete enjoyment, untrammelled by the 
passion and prejudices of earth, left upon my heart 
an impression which I trust may never die. 



DR. CARL RITTER AND DR. CARL ULLMANN. 329 

Ritter, the celebrated geographer, belongs to the 
sages of Germany. Though among the oldest men 
of science, he yields to none in zeal and perseverance 
in his department of study. In spite of his advanced 
age, he still seems strong and active. His tall, erect 
form, and full, clear voice, show that time has den It 
gently with him. When he enters his lecture hall, 
an almost breathless silence ensues. His silvery locks, 
carefully brushed, and his tasteful attire, show that 
age had not made him neglectful of the elegance of 
correct dress. He sits before his class, like the father 
of a large family, and speaks with an authoritative 
confidence that always becomes the wisdom and experi- 
ence of age. 

In Ullmann, in Carlsruhe, author of "the Reformers 
before the He formation," I was likewise greatly disap- 
pointed; a small, elderly man, so unassuming ami 
unostentatious, that he looks like meekness personified. 
When I first saw him, he emerged out of a little 
world of books and manuscripts on the floor and 
his study table, and approached me with an unsus- 
pecting smile, stranger as I was, and with the frankness 
of an old friend. He was full of questions about 
the American Church, her varied polity and prospects. 
He is one of those men, whose exterior is no complete 
index of their mind. At first sight a person would 
take him for a good, rather than a mentally great 
man. He seems entirely free from polemical rigor, and 
speaks even of his enemies in terms of love and kind- 
ness. He seems penetrated by the charity of the 
Gospel, which one cannot help but feel in his presence. 
Such a soothing, genial atmosphere surrounds him, 



330 THE MECHANICAL ARTS. 

that when you part from him, you feel a desire to 
return and linger about him longer. Of course a 
man of his spirit could not well help but labor 
for the Union. The Ecclesiastical Board of Baden 
formed a new Catechism out of the Heidelberg and 
smaller Lutheran Catechism, which was chiefly the 
labor of Ullmann, a work for which he seemed eminently 
qualified. 

The elite of German cities get their fashions from 
Paris, the great fountain of the universe for taste — 
good and bad. But in many places the substantial 
peasantry still wear the short breeches, long-bodied vests 
and broad-brimmed hats, which they wore in the days 
of Frederick the Great. They sip their wine and 
beer, and whiif clouds of tobacco fume from their 
yard-long pipes, as their great grand-sires did. But 
few reapers or grain-drills have yet profaned their 
fields, nor threshing-machines their barns. They still 
reap their harvests by the slow process of the sickle, 
and thresh it with the flail. They have the same 
skinning, skimming, two-wheeled, half- wagon plough 
they had when my father was a plough-boy on the 
Rhine. In Science and the fine Arts there has been 
progress in every branch, though it was sometimes 
downward. But in the mechanical arts they have 
not advanced a step, up or down, for many genera- 
tions. The stove in Luther's study on the Wartburg is 
nearly the same as those in common use now, only with 
some changes, which his inventive genius suggested. 
The wagons, harness and general farming implements 
are the very opposites of practical utility. They point 
to a period when the first crude conceptions of agri- 



GERMAN LIFE AND LITERATURE. 331 

cultural art struggled for expression. Some of their 
tools show a supreme contempt for all mechanical laws, 
excellent only to increase the labor, and diminish the 
power to perform it. Their churches, houses, habits, 
customs, all are old and fixed. 

The Germans take more time for everything than 
we do. They take more time to eat, more time to 
drink, more time to labor, more time to rest and enjoy. 
They are slower in good, and slower in evil. 

The man of riper years can live on the result of 
his past labors. So Germany has a fund of mental 
energy, a literary vitality, which neither admits nor 
requires any of this helter-skelter, time-saving method 
of acquiring great ends. 

The literature and life of Germany, are peculiar. Ours 
is more like a stream, shallow, broad and brawling. Theirs 
like one that flows narrow and deep. We are practical, 
they profound. Both united, make a consistent and 
useful compound. Both have their advantages and 
dangers. Shallow streams are only for light boats, 
and when they are upset in a gale, we have a hope 
to reach bottom. Deep streams are more navigable, 
but many sink therein to rise no more. We are too much 
given to a certain (viehnisserei) intelligence, which would 
know everything. Some of our authors write and talk 
about things in the heavens, on the earth, and under 
the earth. Write a book in a few months, which 
will run through several editions before the end of the 
year. Here a man will spend a long life-time in writing 
on a Greek article, or in spinning out the web of 
one idea; and perhaps even leave that but half 
finished when he dies. We, in our youthful hurry, 



332 GERMAN PROFUNDITY. 

pick up grains of truth on the surface, and we sow 
them again on the surface. The Germans are the 
miners in literature and science. They burrow among 
the ore, and the abundance of this in some of their 
works makes it difficult for practical minds to see 
the gold. Their furnaces do not always separate 
the gold from the dross. The ore in some of their 
works gives us more trouble than we are willing to 
bestow. 

They have a different national and social tempera- 
ment; the surface is like a waveless calm, while there is 
often a wild and fearful commotion underneath. Tt 
is so now. Germany is apparently in a state of 
perfect tranquility. Yet I see under-currents and 
repressed passions, which, should they boil to the 
surface, would raise another tempest whose waves 
and surges would lash upon every shore of Europe. 
With us, everything, good and evil, moves and ripples 
at once to the surface. We have not yet been taught 
the art of concealing the passions. AVe make no 
secret of our weaknesses. A slight gale in the political 
firmament will stir up a short bluster, in the form 
of a local riot, or a Fanueil Hall indignation meeting, 
to permit the escape of popular foam. Germany is 
not irritable, though its subjects are characteristically 
so. Its powers of endurance are astonishing. An old, 
full-grown dog seldom notices the barking and biting 
of young puppies. And when it does turn, it is with 
the dignity and ripe experience of age. 

Our progress and success in the mechanical arts, 
and the constant demand for them, excites and nourishes 
a passion for the practical, at the expense of the 



THE MINERS OF THOUGHT. 333 

profound. The study of the mechanical and material, 
monopolizes the field of investigation. We are prone 
to forget that however important labor-savers, time- 
savers, and distance-annihilators are, that the steam 
engine and electric telegraph will hardly regenerate 
society. In the great sum of means they have their 
relative worth; but ideas mould mankind. But here, 
many are profound to a fault. They dive so much, 
that they are mostly beyond hearing distance of those 
for whom they write. They expect men to receive 
their metal in the mine, instead of bringing it up to 
the surface. Still, in point of originality, productive- 
ness and solid erudition, they are far our superiors. 
It would be blindness to deny this. And indeed this 
need not excite our jealousy, for it would be a great 
shame if they were not. Let us once have five more 
centuries behind us, in which to appropriate the treasu- 
res of other nations and assimilate them to our own, 
as they have done, and we can likewise show the 
world glorious fruits of our riper years. 

The universal custom of living together in towns 
gives a peculiar complexion to country life. Here 
we find no farms, in the American sense ; where the 
owner is snugly nestled amid his broad acres, u 
paternal monarch of his little kingdom ; where thriving 
orchards, waving grain fields and verdant and flowery 
meadows, sloping gently down to some stream, spread 
out before his contented vision ; where the sprightly 
country maiden can find room to go a maying, or 
gather wild berries, and where the boys may canvass 
the fields and woods after game. Woe unto the man 
who wilfully kills a bird or rabbit on his own premises 



:W4 THE BUSY VILLAGE LIFE. 

here. All the game on his lots belongs to the Jaeger, 
(hunter) who pays the Government of the district a 
fixed annual sum for the privilege of hunting. Here 
you find little of that lordly, substantial independence, so 
common with our farmers, which makes them the bone 
and sinew of our Republic. I do not know why it 
is, but I have been in many places where a Bauer 
(farmer,) was synonymous with a rude, uncouth fellow 
— a boor. During the busy seasons their villages 
present scenes of bustling confusion. Imagine a village 
of five hundred farmers, crowded tightly along compactly 
built streets, each having his house, barn and stables, 
skirting a square piece of ground, where the whole 
would often not be large enough to contain a common 
size bank-barn; where the streets are narrow and no 
back alleys, to permit the egress and ingress of cattle ; 
where the domestic arrangements are constantly ham- 
pered and encroached upon by animal impertinence; 
imagine what a sudden transition of the village into 
solitude, during the busy season of hay-making and 
harvest, when all, men and women and children, 
are out reaping; what continuous lines of loaded 
wagons from morning till night, when they gather in 
their crops; and then what a volley of sounds 
during the winter, when a thousand flails are thrashing 
away wearily at their grain, from day to day ! All these 
combine to form a most striking contrast to rural 
life in America. Where such a multitude of different 
interests are crowded together into such a small 
compass, the most precise regulations must be observed 
to maintain order and right. The village must have 
its cowherd, shepherd, swineherd and geeseherd ; each 



CROOKED AND IRREGULAR STREETS. 335 

has his flock to attend to, which he daily leads to their 
respective pasture. In the morning each will blow his 
horn along the streets at a fixed hour, as his signal 
for departure, and in a few minutes the whole army 
responds most loyally to his call. 

A great many of the German towns, even down 
to the smallest villages, have been founded by the 
Romans. Much as we should respect the ancients for 
their many eminent qualities, they certainly knew little 
about planning towns. Even larger towns often look 
as if their streets had been started and finished by 
accident. Crooked, narrow lanes, intersected at all pos- 
sible angles, except right angles, parabolas ever 
approaching, but never meeting, are perfect puzzles to 
a traveler. Some, through which I have gone a dozen 
of times, still remain inscrutable mysteries to me. In 
Augsburg I could scarcely venture a hundred yards 
from my hotel without being lost. In my wanderings 
I crossed familar streets, 1 knew not where, nor how. 
And when I aimed in the direction of known points, 
the imperceptible curves would lure me to quarters dia- 
metrically opposite. To me they were so mysteriously 
obscure, that they became subjects of the profoundest 
study. Good pavements are a rare luxury throughout 
Germany. In Cologne, Halle, Wittenberg, and many 
other cities, there are no side-walks at all. The streets 
are paved, but the stones expose an uneaven surface, 
joined by empty crevices, which make them painfully 
unpleasant to walk upon. Though provided with 
thick-soled boots, my suffering experience impels me 
to designate them as Coleridge did the walks of Cologne : 
" Pavement* fang'd with murderous stones." 



,336 THE PARKS OF GERMANY. 

As these evils have been entailed upon the Germans 
by the Romans, they rather deserve our pity than 
reproof. And a remedy would require a reconstruction 
of the towns, which would be impossible. Besides, the 
citizens are measurably compensated for this unavoid- 
able inconvenience by their pleasant promenades 
through gardens and groves. The Germans are fond of 
nature; they love birds and trees. Their disinterested 
love for these are shown by a thousand little acts. 
Some of the roads are lined for miles with trees, old 
and stately; every town, often down to the rural 
villages, is skirted with parks. Some are dense forests, 
where trees are growing in their native wildness, 
among under-bushes and birds, penetrated by prome- 
nades fringed with plants and flowers. The present 
generation ramble among trees, which their ancestors 
have planted five hundred years ago; and they again 
are planting many for a distant posterity. I confess 
the planting of a tree for the benefit of a coming genera- 
tion, is such a pleasing mark of an unselfish heart, such 
a purely disinterested act, that this prevalent character- 
istic of the Germans has greatly elevated them in 
my estimation. In Germany, trees have become a 
municipal necessity. They are seldom found through 
the town. Their parks are all outside the towns and 
cities. They are quiet places of retirement, where we 
can enjoy the sanctuary and solitude of nature, unmo- 
lested by the rush and dust of business; where the 
birds warble their melodies in their native freedom, 
on their own trees and branches. Here in Berlin, 
through the centre of the city, I am within fifteen 
minutes' walk of the Thien-gaiien, a park that looks 



THE THIERGARTEN IN AUTUMN. 337 

as forest-like and unartificial as some of our western 
wilds. The walks crawl through under the closely- 
woven canopy of overhanging limbs, forming natural 
arbors, several miles in length. The Spree, a stream 
remarkably modest and reserved, steals gently and 
cautiously along its winding path. Here and there 
large swans move slowly along its banks, amid a 
hush like that of a house of mourning. In my daily 
rambles through its leafy streets, I meet many persons, 
old and young, who resort hither to spend an hour 
in quiet retirement. Clusters of children lead each 
other by the hand, vainly looking and listening for 
summer birds. They have all departed. Occasionally 
I am startled by a slight rustling among the leaves, 
caused by some poor female gathering small pieces of wood. 
Sometimes I see aged persons sitting in some con- 
cealed corner for hours; while the yellow leaves are 
falling fast around them, and the gentle breeze that 
blows them down, softly waves their silvery locks, 
they seem to be lost in musing over the spirit of 
autumn, which is settling upon them. Childhood, 
age, the seared leaf, and the spirit of super-earthly 
stillness that hovers over this solitude of autumn! 
O it prophecies of something better, it points to an 
approaching spring, when leaves will bud and birds 
will sing again. 

" O, Reader ! had you in your mind 
Such stores as silent thought can bring, 

O, gentle Reader, you would find 
A tale in everything." 

And then their love and talent for music often 
throw additional charms around these shady re- 
22 



338 THE SINGING BIRDS. 

treats. In Germany you find music everywhere. 
The smallest Dorf has its village choir, which excites 
in the young a love for song. Every considerable 
town has its bands, which during the summer season 
diffuse the "sweet melody of sound." Early in the 
morning I often heard them under a tabernacle of 
dense foliage, through which a thousand birds were 
chirruping and piping their untutored accompaniments. 
And such birds as they have here, real Jenny Land's 
among the feathery tribe. A short time ago I was 
inadvertently thrown into a fit of patriotic indignation, 
in being told by a German traveler, that we had 
no singing birds in America. Why, said he, your 
nature is fundamentally unpoetic. You have no moun- 
tains which deserve the name; your birds can't sing, 
your very dogs are a set of mean, sneaking, pilfering 
animals, that are even void of faithfulness, a common 
attribute of dogs in other countries. You have nothing 
but your primeval forests, but they are so remote 
that they are rarely seen. In my own heart I pro- 
nounced this an untruth. For my part, I never 
could see much poetry in dogs. And with German 
dogs, it is a little like with some" of their masters; 
if they are more orderly and faithful than ours, it is 
not the result of nature or choice, but of a coercive 
oppression. The rights of dogs are shamefully trampled 
upon here. They must do the work of horses, are 
hitched to regular wagons, and tug sadly along outside 
of their natural sphere. Whatever good there is in 
our republican dogs, is not tied on them by harness, 
but is practiced by them from principle. Besides the 
birds of Germany cannot all sing. 



THE GERMAN NIGHTINGALE. 339 

The stork is a very good-natured bird, whose 
parental affections are very tender and strong, but it 
has no ear for music. Its habits put every principle 
of poetry at defiance. Yet its society is courted by all 
classes. Cart-wheels are placed on chimney and house- 
tops, to invite them to build their nests there. If 
they accept the invitation, it is considered a mark of 
respect, and an omen for good. If any person kills 
one, he must expect that its death will be avenged 
on him in some form or other. But let the truth 
be fairly spoken ; the nightingale sings most charm- 
ingly. Its plumage is exceedingly plain, and its habits 
so timid and shy, that it has often reminded me of 
some bashful maidens, who though able to charm 
the ear of others, shrink from it in their presence 
with timid fear. But one can easily steal a song 
behind a bush or under a thicket; while it warbles 
and modulates its cheerful notes, its puny form is 
mostly concealed among the foliage. Modesty and 
merit are qualities rarely combined, and wherever 
found, elicit our warmest admiration. And then the 
skylark, whose voice is a little more harsh and shrill, 
and its habits more bold and aspiring, possesses qualities 
equally pleasing. Larger and gayer in its dress, it 
naturally looks a little more to outward show. But 
its habits and the spirit of its song are always eleva- 
ting, and are rich in poetry and prophecy. It is 
the "excelsior" of -its race. It is a deeply interesting 
sight to see it start from the earth, singing cheerily as 
it flaps upward, its ringing notes becoming clearer as it 
gains the higher and purer air, mounting higher and 
higher still, until its form is lost in the blue sky, 



340 AUTUMN ABKOAD. 

and its song dies faintly away, but sounding up- 
ward still. Does not this ascension of song, this 
upward flight of animal instinct, point to a "better 
country" above the bondage of sin, and the fetters of 
sense, to a home 

" Far from these scenes of narrow night, 
Where boundless glories rise!" 

Earthly ties clog our praises. The higher in grace 
and its attainments, the purer our praise, and the 
more fearless our flight. It seems to me our birds 
excel theirs generally, in rich and gaudy plumage. But 
theirs are less exposed to danger than ours. To 
destroy or rob a bird's nest, or in any way injure 
singing birds, is, in many places, a serious offense, 
and severely punished. They are treated with all the 
respect and deference due to useful members of the 
community, and receive the protection to which their 
helpless innocence entitles them. 

The season of autumn is always more or less sad. 
Unusually so was the one I spent in the great city 
of Berlin. A stranger in this great Prussian capital, 
I felt loneliest when least alone. Amid the busy 
throng of the crowded streets, one's thoughts would 
wander far across the sea. Strolling through the 
fashionable street, "Unter den Linden," the yellow 
leaves sadly filled the air, and fell thick, like great col- 
ored snow-flakes, upon the walk between the stately trees. 
At such a time, the few friends one has in a strange 
city, however frank and warm their kindness, can 
afford but a feeble relief to the spirit of sadness that 
broods over the mind. 



SCENES IN THE BERLIN PARK. 341 

Daily I strolled through the Thiergarten, the 
large park close by the city. There the fading and 
faded leaves fell all day long in unceasing showers. 
Every step I took in the path sent forth a rustling 
sound, like the knell of the year. Here and there a 
few children searched under the leaves for nuts; occa- 
sionally a shy squirrel came to view, busily engaged 
in laying in his winter store. An old, invalid organ- 
grinder daily stood at the same place, aside the path, 
where I. had seen him for months past, sadly grind- 
ing out his doleful music, when not a soul was in 
sight to hear it, patiently waiting for an occasional 
kreutzer ; his gray hairs, sad, furrowed face, threadbare 
clothes, crushed and dispirited looks, made him appear 
like the impersonation of closing autumn, still faintly 
hoping against hope for a reward. Six weeks before, 
this forest resounded with the cheery warblings of 
myriads of birds. Not the faintest note can you hear 
now. How sad and forsaken this whilom beautiful 
forest seems ! And I, wandering daily along its 
deserted paths, am in melancholy sympathy with it. 

A few Sundays before, I had heard a sweet hymn 
sung in one of the Berlin churches, to a very plaintive 
melody. As sometimes happens when we hear cer- 
tain sweet music, it struck a chord in my heart, 
which, without any effort on my part, vibrated pleasant 
sounds through the spirit, and shed its lovely notes 
through weeks thereafter. For hours, in certain abstrac- 
tions of mind, I hummed snatches of the words to the 
music, which mingled with the rustling of leaves, dis- 
turbed by our tread. 

At this thoughtful season one loves to loiter among 



342 THE GRAVE OF 8CHLEIERMACHER. 

the graves of the departed. On a hazy afternoon, 
resembling the dreamy days of our American Indian 
Summer, I wandered outside of the city in quest of the 
Dreifaltigkeit'e Cemetery. The road wound a few 
miles through a fenceless, fertile country, almost as flat 
as a western prairie. Compared with Laurel Hill and 
Auburn, the Cemetery looked very plain. Although 
the dust of great and wealthy people reposes here, one 
sees comparatively few costly, showy monuments. I 
asked the keeper a few questions; among others as to 
where was the grave of Schleiermaeher. He directed 
me to a certain part of the Cemetery. Long and 
patiently did J search for it. I had taken it for granted, 
that the grateful students of this great man, and the 
city which his learning and great name had adorned, 
had reared a costly monument to his memory. At 
length I found it at an unexpected place, near a rude 
fence; his grave marked with a very plain tombstone. 
This neglected grave of a great and good man stalled 
my mind in a pensive reverie. Thus men whose unseKish 
and unrequited life blesses a whole continent, are left to 
sleep in neglected graves. 

As is the custom in German Cemeteries, groups of 
people were here and there engaged, nursing or water- 
ing the plants over the graves of their loved ones, and 
dropping a tear over the turf above them, as they went 
about their affectionate work. 

Trees, birds, music — these are pleasing instructors, 
which elevate and refine. Who docs not remember 
with fondness some familiar tree near his parental 
dwelling; some favorite bird, as an acquaintance from 
childhood; some familiar tunes, which have vitally iden- 



A HEALTHY NATION. 343 

tified themselves with his early education? The sight 
of a tree, the cooing of a dove, the sound of a sacred 
tune at church, have often in this remote coun- 
try called up a thousand pleasant associations of 
home and its memories. The Germans act wisely in 
giving all classes of society access to amusements which 
refine and instruct. They are extremely fond of out- 
door life. What Goethe said of the Strasburgers, 
may be said of the Germans generally: "They are pas- 
sionately fond of walking, and they have a good right 
to be so." Old and young, rich and poor, wise and 
unwise, all walk; walk through the same walks, among 
the same trees to hear the same music; walk every 
day, and walk long, too. This practice has its bodily 
uses. As a nation, the Germans are remarkably healthy. 
You meet few hot-house plants, or persons of a sickly 
appearance, who seem to have been shut out from 
sunlight half their days. The climate may be entitled 
to some praise for this, but their habits do more ; their 
life in the open air and diet. Their diet is far more simple 
than ours. They begin and end the day with a very 
light meal; they do not eat so much heavy, hot, half- 
baked, undigestible food as Americans do. Their cooks, 
like their authors, do not deal so much in omnibus 
dishes. They prefer to undertake less at a time, and 
attend to it thoroughly. Hence dyspepsia and its train 
of suffering, are unknown to them. 

The Germans pay great respect and veneration to 
the resting-places of the dead. Their burial-grounds 
are delightful places of resort, which are visited during 
all hours of the day. The hillocks are interspersed 
with shrubbery ; the walks are lined with trees, and 



344 GERMAN CEMETERIES. 

during the summer flowers bloom on almost every 
grave. The "God's Acre" is a spot in which the 
whole community feels a deep interest, for each has 
some kindred dust reposing there. The tombstones are 
nearly all in the form of a cross, with a short inscrip- 
tion, a short passage from Holy Writ, or the beautiful 
phrase, "Auf Wiedersehen," — which cannot be ren- 
dered into English ; often it has greeted me from the 
abode of the dead, and from the lips of the living, 
but always kindled new hopes in me for "the land 
of the blest." The crosses and monuments are hung 
with wreaths woven by the hand of affection. Bouquets 
are strewn on the green turf, while plants are beauti- 
fully blooming as symbols of hope over their dust, Each 
Cemetery has a dead-house, where persons must be 
placed soon after their decease, until the day of burial. 

On a pleasant morning in August T visited the 
Cemeterv of Munich ; in its dead-house were eight 
corpses, whose coffins were strewn with wreaths of 
evergreen and flowers. Every grave was a flower-vase, 
edged with turf. At one end was a basin of water for 
the use of the whole Cemetery. A crowd of well-dressed 
and ill-dressed persons, rich and poor, were scattered 
along its walks, fondling some floweret on the grave of 
a departed friend, sprinkling the hillocks with water, 
and putting holy water into the little basin. I will venture 
to call even the last act a virtue, the token of a tender 
and well-meant recollection. Each had a little can to 
carry water. Some brought chaplets with them to 
hang on the cross. A little girl was carefully winding 
garlands around and across a little grave. I asked 
her for whom she wove her "Kranz." She replied, 



AT THE GRAVE OF HER BROTHER. 345 

"filer unsern Heinrich." When she had carefully done 
her work, she walked around it with a slight quiver 
of emotion on her features, and wondered whether he 
saw her, and then turned to nie saying: "Nicht wahr, 
wir sehen ihn wieder?" I pressed her little hand in 
mine, and told her of the "Spirit Home" in oar 
Father's house, where all the good shall "meet again, 
ne'er to sever," and how happy the meeting of His 
children there, and of their everlasting, unbroken fel- 
lowship, where there shall be no more 

" Sinning nor sighing, 
Nor weeping, nor dying." 

This daily bestowment of affection upon the memory 
of the dead, tenders and soothes the hearts of the 
living. It makes the grave a spot of pleasure, rather 
than grief, a thin veil, which separates time from 
eternity. It enables them to treat the departed as 
those who are still members of their household, with 
whom they can enjoy a communion as real as when 
they were visibly with them, if they are "members 
of the same body." They are to them like those who 
have gone on a journey, and they can feel pleasure 
in the prospect of following them. They have only 
crossed the boundary, which 

" Like a narrow stream divides 
That heavenly land from ours." 

The early Christians were in the habit of celebra- 
ting the days on which their friends died, as birth-day 
festivals. They would assemble around their graves 
on each returning anniversary, and sing hymns of 
praise to God, for having redeemed and triumphantly 



346 THE DECORATION OF GRAVES. 

taken them to Himself. So the Christian now can look 
into the grave; " Since Jesus has lain there, he dreads 
not its gloom." And there is a heavenly meaning 
in hanging a coronet of evergreen over the dust of the 
pious dead, or twining festive garlands around their 
turf. 



CHAPTER XVIII 



STREET LIFE IN BERLIN. DRESDEN. HERRNHUT. 

BOHEMIA. PRAGUE. VIENNA. TRIESTE. VENICE. 

MILAN. GENOA. FLORENCE. 



" It is surprising that the foundation of a city 
should ever have been laid on so uninteresting a spot; 
but it is far more wonderful that it should have grown 
up, notwithstanding, into the flourishing capital of a 
great Empire." So says one, whose judgment ought 
to have weight. 

Built on the Spree, which in America we would 
call a creek, in a flat, unpicturesque country, it has 
grown to the metropolis of the German Empire, one 
of the first cities of the civilized world. Its attractions, 
accordiug to the American standard of municipal taste, 
do not compare favorably with some of our larger 
cities. With the exception of Unter den Linden, its 
streets are more solid than showy. The houses impress 
you with their substantial appearance, built for durable 
service, rather than beauty of architecture. Like the 
palaces of its Emperor and Princes, their massive walls 
are built to stand for centuries. 

Every large city has its own type of city and social 
life. So, too, has Berlin. Unter den Linden is its 
principal street ; or rather, this fashionable thoroughfare 
has five streets side by side. One street on each side, 
next to the sidewalks for conveyances to use; next to 
these are two rows of large linden trees on each side, 

347 



348 SOCIAL RANK OF A MILITARY OFFICER. 

which form two shaded avenues for promenades; 
between these two is another broad avenue, roofed by 
the great linden limbs, used for the same purpose. 

Among the great mass of people thronging this 
street, you always find a large proportion of gnyly- 
u ni formed officers of the army. With a sword dangling 
at their sides, they proudly step through the crowd 
with an air of lofty superiority. For, usually these 
military promenaders belong to the less worthy men 
of their station, who are greater on a parade than in 
battle. Their toilet and trappings are arranged with- 
faultless precision, and in their path they scatter the 
odor of rare perfumery, and stalk about among the 
civilians of Berlin, with an air of great consequence. 

In Prussia public opinion ranks the position of 
a military officer very high; higher than the legal, 
medical or clerical profession. Berlin builds monu- 
ments to her military heroes, more than to her great 
men of science and of State. Although, unless an officer 
of high rank, he has but a meagre salary, he is a favorite 
in society, and his company is courted by people of 
rank. To fair ladies of fortune, members of "the best 
families," the straps and feathers of a soldier have a 
wonderful charm. As you watch the plumes waving 
above this sea of heads on Unter den Linden, you 
have an index of the strength and the weakness of 
a great Empire. The bayonets and prowess of her 
soldiers shield her against -her foes, and secure her 
rights, whilst these hundreds of thousands of warriors 
produce nothing, and consume all. Respecting the 
true wealth of a nation, they are like an army of 
grasshoppers, reaping where they have not sown, and 
gathering where they have not strewed. 



A FREE CONCERT UNTER DEN LINDEN. 349 

Every day at ]2 M., a fine military band plays 
towards the lower end of the street, near the royal 
palace. Often would I throw aside books and papers 
at noon, and hasten to this open air concert, free to 
all the people. Most enchanting music did they dis- 
course, and a choice, yet vast audience did they attract. 
Men, hoary with age, and decked with the glitter- 
ing marks of honor, the servants and the votaries 
of science, the sage and the youthful student, paused 
in their walk to catch the pleasing music. The first 
notes brought nurses and servants, with the little 
children in their charge, hurriedly to the spot, all 
enjoying the concert with bated breath. 

These nurses form a peculiar feature of Berlin life 
in Unter den Linden. The most of them are women 
from the country, retaining their simple, picturesque 
village costume ; a short red petticoat, a snow-white 
apron, a blue bodice, and a white or colored sort of 
turban for a bonnet. The most of them still look 
unspoiled by corrupt city life, and unspotted as 
when they left their country homes. With patient 
leisure they here seek to amuse and interest the little 
citizens of the world, as they carry them on their 
arms, or push them about in little coaches. Their 
costume, conduct and looks indicate that they feel 
strange and ill-at-home amid such surroundings. 

As in all large cities, Berlin abounds with corner- 
loafers, poor people, and some not very poor, who 
have, or wish to have, nothing to do. Against 
posts and corner-houses they lazily lean. Here 
and there one of their number accosts you in 
a strange brogue and manner: "Alte Kleeder zu 



350 THE CABMEN OF BERLIN. 

ver Koofen" (have you any old clothes for sale)? 
Thus both Jew and Gentile are eager to convert the 
thread-bare, cast-off goods of their fellow-men into 
merchandise and money. 

Among this street life the horse and his driver 
are prominently represented. Like the humanity of 
Berlin, its horse-life appears in two classes. The 
nobler horse serving royalty and people of rank, gayly 
prancing along the street in gold-mounted harness, 
sleek and nimble-footed, with arched neck and flowing 
mane, proudly champing his bit, gently held by a 
liveried driver more proud than he. 

Very different from him is the ordinary cab-horse 
of Berlin, than which you cannot find anywhere a more 
distressed and forlorn-looking member of his kind. 
Poor in flesh and vitality, his ribs you can count, and 
see if one is broken or missing; his legs stiff-jointed, 
his bones lifting the skin to angular elevations ; so life- 
less and sleepy does he look, that your sympathy is 
touched by the sight of him. Ever and anon he 
changes his legs, as he stands aside of the curb-stones, 
seeking to relieve his fatigue or pain by standing on 
three, and resting the fourth. Meanwhile his driver 
sulkily sits in his narrow place; a coarse fur cap, with 
the number of his cab on it, covers his bushy, unkempt 
head; a beard as bushy half covers his red face; 
wrapped in a heavy, coarse cloak, from under which his 
clumsy wooden shoes partly peep out — such is the Berlin 
cabman. A coarse, ungainly man, who never lifts 
his cap for anybody ; yet honest and independent ; 
unlike the American cabman, he never clamors for a 
job, never even asks you to hire his cab. If you wish 



DOG TEAMS. 351 

to have his services, you will have to ask for them, 
for he will certainly not ask permission to serve you. 
He is prompt to resent a wrong, and to claim his rights. 
Last fall the government increased the tariif on the 
cabmen's business. At once they combined on a strike. 
And great was the trouble, for people had either to 
go afoot, or ride in dog coaches. 

In Berlin, large draught dogs are in common use, 
mostly in smaller truck-wagons, where the owner 
guides the wagon, by keeping his hand on the tongue, 
which usually is at the rear end, while the dogs 
pull it through the street. When the cabmen strike, 
many people ride in smaller coaches, propelled by dogs. 
And it is surprising what a heavy load a team of dogs 
can pull. As soon as the team stops, they lie down 
and rest, at the same time watching the wagon. Woe 
to the man who - touches it in the absence of the owner! 
This use of the dog gives him a high value in some 
European cities. The raising and training of draught 
dogs is a special business. Indeed Berlin has a so- 
called dog park, where dogs are washed, sheared, and 
taken to board. 

One naturally feels somewhat lost upon his first 
entrance into a city like Berlin. At the city gate an 
official demands your passport. The streets seem 
strangely built, and many of them crooked. The hotel 
seems so far off. After spending a day or two there, 
you seek more private quarters. In certain streets 
many bills are posted on houses, announcing rooms 
for rent. Families live on flats or floors, each floor 
or story of the house being occupied by a separate 
family. Many of these do not need all their rooms, 



352 a tourist's home in Berlin. 

and rent them to students or others. At 34, Leipsicher 

Strasse, on the third floor, lived tailor J. . I 

paid him $3.00 a month rent ior one room. When the 
biting, cold December weather began, he gave me the 
use of a second room, with a stationary stove, for a 
small additional sum. 

The furniture consisted of a bed, a table, and a few 
chairs, but no carpet. For a frugal breakfast and 

supper I paid Madam J. 12 J cents a day. 

Dinner I usually ate in a restaurant, costing from 15 to 
30 cents, according to what was eaten. For this you 
could get very good soup, roast-beef, potatoes, &c. 
Sometimes an extra cup of coffee and bread was taken 
between the hours of the regular meals. Here many 
people eat five times a day ; but never much at a time. 
Early in the morning they take bread and coffee; later 
the breakfast; dinner at 12 or 1 ; at 4 p. m., lunch; 
later in the evening, supper. 

The stove in my room was in the shape of a square 
chimney, seven or eight feet high, and two feet in 
diameter. The outside was covered with smooth tile. 
For every heating I paid my landlady a groschen, 
equal to two cents and a half. She never heated it so 
as to afford much comfort in cold weather. The 
room remained cold; by crouching closely to it, I 
felt the warmth slightly on one side of my person. 
Had there been room to lie on it, I would have 
sought comfort in this way. 

Here I lived for a period of two months. From 
one to two hours I would daily spend in strolling 
through the Thier Garten and Unter den Linden. 
The most of the day was spent in studying rare 



STUDYING FRENCH. 353 

works taken from the Royal Library. An hour a day 
was devoted to the study of French, with a private 
teacher. A vivacious polished Frenchman he was, 
who could speak little, save his own language. When 
he got beyond my depth in the French, he called in 
his wife, who helped us out of the difficulty with the 
aid of her smattering knowledge of the German. Like 
most of his countrymen, he was a man with a tender 
heart. Although our intercourse was mainly confined 
to the laborious \essons, he took my leaving Berlin 
sorely to heart. Tears rolled down his cheeks at our 
parting, as he embraced and blessed me with a final 
adieu. 

Dr. E. is an eminent Berlin physician, widely and 
favorably known. A slight illness led me to hand 
him a letter of introduction, which an American friend 
had kindly given me. After inquiring about the 
symptoms of my ailment, he playfully prescribed the 
following treatment : 

"To-morrow evening at 8 o'clock we shall have a 
family gathering at our house, to which I and my 
wife cordially invite you. Please do not fail to be 
present." 

It was the birth-day festival of my friend. His 
brother, Baurath (architect) Dr. E., a celebrated natu- 
ralist, who had been three years in the service of the 
King of Prussia, on a scientific expedition to Egypt, 
and his maiden sister, were the other guests. The table 
was frugally, yet tastefully spread. Two roasted 
rabbits, potato salad, a box of sardines, thinly sliced 
nice fresh bread, several kinds of fruit, and several 
botties* of wine, constituted the chief articles of the 
23 



354 A BIRTH-DAY FESTIVAL. 

feast. On the middle of the table were two large 
cakes — a pound-cake and a fruit-cake. As pieces of 
these were sliced oif arouud the outside for the guests, 
the centre scooped out, contained burning alcohol, which 
helped to shed light on the festive scene. At the 
close spread butter-bread and cheese were handed 
around. Aside of each plate was a wine goblet. After 
a long, yet not immoderate meal, (for the Germans 
are very slow eaters), Baurath Dr. E. uncorked two 
bottles of wine, then turned to the guests, saying: 

"My dear friends, fill your glasses, and join me in 
greeting our dear brother, and wishing him much joy, 
on his forty-fifth birth-day." 

"Not so, dear brother, .it is my fortiy-fowrth" 
exclaimed the physician. "The forty-FiFTH," rejoined 
the Baurath. "The forty-FOURTH," was the reply, 
amid the boisterous merriment of all at the table, the 
brothers included. Thereupon the family and guests 
arose, touched goblets, and cordially greeted the host. 
The conversation was cheerful and unrestrained by 
fashionable etiquette. The whole group consisted of 
Dr. E., his wife and three charming little daughters, 
his brother and sister, and myself. 

Upon leaving, the sister kindly invited me to attend 
a social gathering at her house the following evening. 
At the appointed time, I rang the floor-bell of Baurath 
E.'s house, or rather the bell communicating with the 
second floor of the house, on which he and his sister 
lived. I was led into a neatly furnished parlor, with a 
painted floor, instead of a carpet, and a piano. The 
number of guests was larger than those of the pre- 
vious evening at Dr. E.'s house. As they severally 



AN EVENING WITH THE SAVANS. 355 

entered, each would first approach and greet Miss E., the 
lady of the house, passing by, without noticing, all the 
rest. This seems to be the invariable custom in the 
cultivated circles of Germany. After this ceremony, the 
person arrived is introduced to the other ladies present, 
then to the gentlemen. Besides Dr. E. and his wife 
the party consisted of Licentiate Strauss, son of the 
celebrated Court preacher, Dr. Strauss, Prof. Lepsius, 
the celebrated Chief of the Prussian Scientific Expe- 
dition to Egypt, Prof. Jacobi of the University of 
Koenigsberg, Prof. Mueller of Buenos Ayres, South 
America, and eight cultivated ladies. 

After spending part of the evening in pleasant, 
social intercourse, the company were led to an adjoining 
chamber, where a table had been spread. The feast 
was " with simple plenty crowned," containing amply 
enough, and of substantial dishes, without a wasteful 
display of luxury. The Germans are not given to the 
American folly of extravagance in social entertainments. 

During the entertainment of the evening, the most 
of the ladies sat around a table, knitting, whilst they 
chatted with one another, and with such gentlemen as 
were near them. The latter moved about in the room, 
conversing on topics mirthful and grave. 

A remark was made by some one, touching the sen- 
sitiveness of the clergy, to which the venerable Prof. 
Jacobi replied: "The clergy are often too sensitive. 
They are accustomed to present their views from the 
pulpit, where no one is allowed to contradict, or reply 
to them. At church the people must keep silent, even 
though the preachers preach false doctrine. But a 
person who is thus in the habit of expressing his views 



356 GERMAN TITLES. 

where no one is allowed to question him, as to whether 
he preach truth or error, does not learn to brook contra- 
diction. Hence many clergymen lose all patience, 
when the correctness of their views is called in Ques- 
tion." 

The social customs of Germany lay great stress ■ 
upon titles. In conversation each one is called by the 
title of the office which he holds, and his wife receives 
the title of her husband, with a feminine termination. 
The treasurer of a village or town is called Herr Ein- 
nehmer (Mr. Receiver), and his wife, Frau Einneh- 
merin (Mrs. Receiver). A Justice of the Peace is 
called Herr Justizrath, and his wife, Frau Justizrsethin. 
An architect is called Herr Baurath, and his wife Fran ' 
Bauraethin. A minister is called Herr Pfarre r, and his 
wife Frau Pfarrerin. A physician is Herr Medicinal- 
rath, and his wife Frau Medicinalnethin. Think of 
the embarrassment one at first feels in German society, 
as he tries to keep the run of such titles as the following, 
in his conversation with the honored ladies who bear 
them. Frau Ober Seminardireetorin, Frau Ober-Hof- 
predigerin (Mrs. Court Preacher), Frau Friedensgericht- 
schreiberin ! How strange i: would sound to our 
American ears, to address a Judge of the Supreme 
Court in a social gathering, as Mr. Chief-Justice, and 
his wife, Mrs. Chief-Justice ! Even foreigners arc 
addressed with most high-sounding titles. In address- 
ing a letter to me, a friend called me " Your Reverence." 
Another dignified me with the august title of " Hoch- 
wohlgeboren" (High-well-born). Many an awkward 
blunder and mortifying breach of social etiquette do 
foreigners perpetrate with their delicate endeavors in this 
titular practice. 



THE LAST DAYS IN BERLIN. 357 

The two months which I spent in Berlin were more 
a preparation for future, than a rest from past labors. 
Through the kindness of the American Minister, Mr. 
Vroom, I received access to the Royal Library, contain- 
ing over 600,000 volumes, which furnished me varied 
and apt reading matter. Besides, the privilege of 
attending lectures in the University, studying French, 
an occasional letter or correspondence, and a number 
of pleasant acquaintances, made the time pass agreeably, 
and with more than desirable rapidity. There is a 
certain intoxication of enjoyment in traveling, which 
would make such a period of unemployed repose intol- 
erably dull. For several weeks I looked towards the 
14th of November with increasing delight. And 
when it arrived, a few hours sufficed to pack, prepare 
and depart; to be what the Germans call reisefertig. 
For where little is, there is little trouble, but that little 
becomes doubly important. 

I had just remained long enough to see how Berlin 
looked in dreary winter, for I made my way to the 
depot through the first snow storm of the season; but 
even this could not becloud the cheerful anticipations 
of renewing my journey. The day alternated between 
snow and sunshine, and the country through which we 
passed, corresponded to these changes. Pine forests, 
sandy plains, and cultivated regions, which might look 
very pleasant, when the snow leaves them. Saxony is 
more undulating than Northern Germany, Avhere gentle 
hills and valleys flow into each other with pleasant 
and easy succession. I stopped at Dresden, where I 
spent part of the following day in visiting its natural 
curiosities. It happened to be the market day, and 



358 DRESDEN MARKETS. 

these large markets are theatres of country habits and 
city tastes. Here one can see a vast assemblage of 
plain, toiling country folk, which in every different 
province have a peculiar dialect and dress. Here you 
can see what the country produces in the vegetable and 
animal department, what game runs wild in their 
forests, and what fish their streams afford. And above 
all, you can without impertinence see what the people 
eat. A nation's food often gives complexion to its laws. 
It furnishes instructive hints of its weaknesses and worth, 
of its appetites and abstinence. I find much philosophy 
in these markets. It is not very flattering to give so 
much prominence to the material man, but where 
eating is ostensibly a conditio sine qua von of human 
life, a function whose rational use is neither despicable 
nor unpleasant, it becomes no mean item in the sum 
of human duties. 

Desirous of spending the Lord's day in the quiet 
seclusion of Herrnhut, I deferred seeing more of 
Dresden, until my return. For a considerable distance 
the road to the retired Moravian village is a constant 
ascent, which the falling snow rendered more difficult, 
so that the train jogged heavily along over the short 
distance, for more than three hours. The following 
day the snow was several inches deep, and the weather 
cold enough for mid-winter. 

Herrnhut is the mother colony of the Moravian 
Brethren. A mile from the village is the Palace of 
Count Zinzendorf. Here he lived, when during the 
religious persecutions, in the beginning of the last cen- 
tury, he offered an asylum to the fugitive Moravians. 
At ? first a small village arose around his dwelling, but 



THE FIRST MORAVIAN COLONY. 359 

afterwards he founded Herrnhut for the colony, which 
still continues to be a flourishing Moravian village, of 
1100 inhabitants. His ancient residence is on the side 
of a hill, that slopes down to a contiguous little stream, 
along whose banks the village of Bethelsdorf spreads 
out. The two villages are connected by an avenue of 
trees extending across the intervening hill. The chief 
Board of the Moravian church, which has the nominal 
control of the whole denomination in every country, 
resides in and around the palace. The building has 
nothing of the superb and costly elegance of modern, 
princely palaces, and yet it is adorned by the memory 
of one who has achieved more glorious victories than 
the conquest of the mightiest kingdoms on earth ; 
victories untainted with cruelty and carnage, and Avhich 
carried peace and salvation to the remotest parts of the 
world. He belonged to the true nobility, the pedigree 
of "a royal priesthood," who are destined to wear a 
coronet of unfading glory. He once said: "I will 
no longer be a Count, but a Christian;" for he well 
knew that the latter was greater and more glorious 
than the former. While others compassed sea and 
land, and slew their fellow-men to gratify their unhal- 
lowed ambition, he traversed seas and continents to 
proclaim the Saviour, and comfort his oppressed follow- 
ers. In the centre of the Cemetery, on a beautiful hill- 
side, facing Herrnhut, lie his remains beneath a plain, 
horizontal monument with a modest inscription. There 
is some comfort to stand aside of the dust of such 
a man; one feels it a real joy to linger around his 
grave, to ponder how he lived and died. The Cemetery 
is intersected by long arbors of trees, whose square, flat 



360 A SUNDAY IN HERRNHUT. 

tops look as if the hand of man had cropped them 
perfectly even, and whose trunks appear from a distance 
as if they supported artificial arches. 

Herrnhut has one plain, home-like hotel, and one 
church. The landlord is a genial, intelligent gentle- 
man, who seems to feel a personal interest in his guests. 
He is thoroughly posted in the history of the town and 
of that of the Moravian Church. He cheerfully serves the 
visitor, in place of a guide-book for the village and its 
surroundings. His guests were all orderly, and showed 
a perceptible interest in the Christian religion. During 
the four days which I spent with him, I saw no one 
drinking liquor here. 

Herrnhut remembers the Sabbath day to keep it 
holy. A violent snow-storm made it unusually quiet. 
At 8| in the morning, a devotional meeting was held 
in the church. For such an inclement morning, the 
attendance was good. Several hymns were sung and 
a few prayers offered. At 10 a. m., the regular Lord's 
day services began. Through the deep snow, breasting 
the howling storm, the Herrnhuters bravely streamed 
churchward, until the large building was almost filled 
with worshippers. Like all Moravian Churches, this is 
a plain building, without any ornament. The low 
pulpit looked like a speaker's stand. It had plain, if I 
remember correctly, unpainted benches instead of pews, 
and no stove. Despite my heavy cloak, I shivered 
with cold all through the services. These good people 
are unused to the luxury of warm churches in winter. 
Indeed, on the continent one very rarely finds a stove, 
or any other kind of heating arrangement in a church. 

The sermon consisted of a simple exposition of 



CHURCH SERVICES IN HERRNHUT. 361 

1 Cor. 15:58. The minister wore a robe and white 
neck-band. The choir consisted of ten ladies. Their 
tunes were simple and sweetly sung. Some of the 
anthems were sung alternately by the choir and the 
congregation. The worship throughout was liturgical, 
the pastor, choir and congregation respectively taking 
an audible part in praying, as well as in singing. 

Each sex sat in separate parts of the church. The 
ladies wore no bonnets, but each, even to the little 
girls, wore a snow-white cap. Each cap was ornamented 
with a ribbon of peculiar color, according to the age 
of the wearer. The little girls wore a dark, the young 
ladies a pink, the married ladies a blue, and the widow 
ladies a gray or white ribbon. 

At 7 in the evening another devotional meeting 
was held in the church. The services consisted of 
singing and prayer, and an exposition of a Scripture 
passage. The preacher delivered his discourse sitting 
on a chair. 

"Would you perhaps like to attend a baptismal 
service?" said mine host one day. " At 3 o'clock this 
afternoon such a service will be held in the prayer hall 
of the church. " Thankful for his information, I 
repaired thither at the appointed hour. A large num- 
ber of the school children and the parents were present. 
The pastor, in a white^pbe, sitting on a chair, explained 
a passage of Scripture relating to baptism. A lady led 
the singing on a piano. The pastor and the congre- 
gation sang responsively, each a few lines in turn. 
While assuming the vows, and answering the questions 
put to them by the pastor, each sponsor laid the right hand 
on the head of the child. After this the pastor cate- 



362 THE PEOPLE OF HERRNHUT. 

chized the children and young people present about 
their own baptism, and their baptismal duties. Every 
baptismal service is thus publicly held and improved 
for the benefit of the children, and parents of the con- 
gregation. 

Herrnhut is to the Moravians what Jerusalem is to 
the Jews. It is a model Christian village. Its gov- 
ernment is strict, but paternal. No scenes or sounds of 
drunkenness and profanity annoy the stranger on its 
streets. Each day is begun and ended with prayer 
and praise. In the morning each family holds worship 
at home; in the evening at church. The houses are all 
plainly built in a uniform style, and plainly furnished. 
The people all seem to be industrious, contented, thrifty 
and pious. Not a single person did I see loafing 
around the street-corners, depot or tavern, who looked 
like a village drone. No one is very rich, and no one 
very poor. The poor are all well provided for, yet 
not so as to encourage idle or wasteful habits. The 
children are cheerful and happy. iVt their school and 
church service they sing like birds of a June morning. 
On their little sleds the boys dashed adown the snowy 
hill-sides at the edge of the village with boisterous glee. 

There are no homeless people in Herrnhut. The 
congregation has three homes for unmarried and wid- 
owed persons. A brother-hou|^ for the single men, a 
sister-house for single women, and a home for widows. 

Around the palace of Zinzendorf a group of houses 
has been built, which are known by the name of Beth- 
elsdorf. Each village has an excellent school, in which 
much time and attention are devoted to the study of 
music. 



THK CEMETERY OF HERRNHTTT. 363 

Along a gently sloping hill-side, between the two 
villages, is the large, quiet God's Acre. Here for the past 
one hundred and fifty years thousands of Moravians have 
been laid to rest. It is enclosed with a tall thorn-hedge. 
All the graves and tombstones are alike. Over each grave 
lies a plain, flat stone, whose inscription only contains 
the name and age of the deceased, without any post 
mortem eulogies. The poor have as pretty a grave and 
monument as the rich. 

Instead of being buried together in families, the 
dead are laid side by side in rows, according to their 
age, and the time of their death. When one dies, he 
is laid aside of the one who died before him. On an 
elevation, in the centre of the Cemetery, called Hut- 
berg, are a few graves with larger stones than the rest, 
but of the same material and shape. They cover the 
dust of Zinzendorf and his family. The inscription on 
his tombstone is somewhat longer and more eulogistic 
than those of the others, yet praising him no more than 
he deserves. Large, old trees shade the walks among 
the graves. Their tops are flat, as if cropped by the 
keeper, and their long branches form a leafy arch over 
the walks. 

This is exclusively a Moravian village, the mother 
colony of the Moravian denomination. In 1721-25, a 
number of pious people were driven out of Austria, by 
the persecutions of the Jesuits. Count Zinzendorf, then 
a Saxon nobleman, invited them to a shelter, lands and 
a home here. This district was then an unbroken forest. 
In the midst of a grove, near the road, is a monument, 
which marks the spot where in 1722 he caused the 
first tree to be felled in clearing the ground for these 



364 Raphael's madonna at Dresden. 

new settlers. It is said that he derived the name of 
Herrnhut, from Psalm 84: 10. "I had rather be 
a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in 
the tents of wickedness." The word door-keeper in the 
German is Thuerhueter. Instead of making himself 
the Hueter, he calls his new colony Herrnhueter 
(Lord-keepers) or Herrnhut. 

On my return I remained a short time longer in 
Dresden. It is a beautiful city, in a picturesque region 
of country. The Elbe divides it, and imparts a peculiar 
charm to its scenery. I visited the gallery of fine arts, 
one of the most celebrated in Germany. After I found 
Raphael's Madonna and Child, the rest seemed unsatis- 
factory. And even with this I was partly disappointed. 
I had unconsciously formed an ideal of the appearance 
of the Virgin and the infant Saviour, which this paint- 
ing has not realized, nor will any other. The highest 
creation of art cannot body forth the divine. It cannot 
rise above the human. It is our privilege to believe 
and trust in the divine, but what tongue can describe, 
or what pencil portray it on the canvas? The Virgin's 
face blends an expression of melancholy sadness and 
submission, as if she foreknew the trying life and death 
of her child. The infant Jesus has a countenance beam- 
ing with the " Wonderful." His dark eyes shine with 
an intelligence not common to infants, which peer 
out into the future, almost with the earnestness of man- 
hood. And yet Jesus must have looked just like other 
children. After studying it awhile, my disappointment 
partially vanished. I saw a depth and peculiarity 
of expression, a more than human spirituality glowing 
on the canvas, which I never had seen before. Again 



FROM DRESDEN TO PRAGUE. 365 

and again I returned to look at it for the last time. I 
felt sad that I should perhaps never see it again, and 
yet how much more wonderful and glorious will He 
appear, when "we shall see Him as He is." For three 
hundred years this painting has been admired as a 
wonder of art, and it remains a wonder still. 

The railroad from Dresden to Prague passes along 
the Elbe for some distance, through Saxon Switzer- 
land. The mountains look like massive ruins, shat- 
tered by some mighty convulsions. In many places 
lofty pyramids of natural rocks, formed of loose, 
rounded blocks, overtop the trees, and almost look as 
if the hand of man had piled them there. Narrow 
valleys are formed between the steep mountains, with a 
few humble huts here and there, whose inmates scrape 
a scanty subsistence from the unfruitful soil. As soon 
as we reached the Austrian boundary, our passports and 
baggage were examined. And before we reached Prague 
the police officers passed through the cars, and collected 
all the passports to be examined again by the regular 
police authorities. One can readily observe the differ- 
ence between Austrian rigor, and that of the Principal- 
ities, as soon as he crosses the boundary. It would be 
hard to smuggle contraband politics into Austria, unless 
it were closely packed. Every avenue is strictly 
guarded so as to leave no one in or out of the country, 
without the requisite qualifications. These police senti- 
nels perform a two-fold office. They stop the leaks of 
a worm-eaten, decaying ship, and they pump the water 
out of the leaking vessel to keep it from sinking. If a 
traveler utters sentiments obnoxious to Austrian poli- 
tics, he will be sure to fall into the hands of spies 



366 THE AUSTRIAN POLICE. 

appointed for the purpose, who will at once transport 
him over the boundary of the Empire, and there let 
him fly. I generally made it a point to transact my 
own business with the police, in order to form their 
more intimate acquaintance. When I entered the office 
at Prague to get my passport, these officials were sur- 
rounded by a crowd of strangers on similar business, 
whom they snapped and barked off most insultingly. I 
looked on for awhile, in the meantime endeavoring to 
cool down my temper to a passive, unresenting sub- 
mission, trying to prepare myself for the worst. Hand- 
ing one of them my card, he asked who I was, and 
where I was from, whereupon the growling official at 
once put on the amiable gentleman, and handed me my 
passport with a smiling courtesy, that seemed to desig- 
nate me as the greatest favorite in the crowd. Perhaps 
he wished to conceal the tyrant before a foreigner, or 
was it because he respected my country? I had to 
think of the magic power of Roman citizenship during 
the blooming period of the Empire. Givis Romanus 
sum. But it was not this, for our institutions find 
precious little sympathy in Austria. The few persons 
who expressed any, would most generally look around 
whether there were any spies about. 

The ancient city of Prague has doubtless seen its 
best days. It is not without its business activity, but 
its vast amount of pauperism gives a sad complexion to 
its population. The city lies on the banks of the 
Moldau, a stream as large as the west branch of the 
Susquehanna. A massive stone bridge connects it, 
which is five hundred years old, and was one hundred 
and fifiy years in building. Higher up the stream a 



THE CITY OF PRAGUE. 367 

large wire bridge spans it, which is quite a contrast to 
the unprogressive aspect of the city. On the east bank 
is a steep hill, crowned by the old palace of the Bohe- 
mian kings, which affords an interesting view of the 
old city. Some great and decisive battles have been 
fought in its vicinity ; but my pen shrinks from 
dwelling so much on scenes of carnage. One is poorly 
edified by tracing up and dwelling upon acts of whole- 
sale slaughter. What one nation may call bravery and 
the triumph of Right, another will designate as the 
unscrupulous cruelty of Might and committed murder 
in the name of war. 

During the last twenty years we have heard so much 
of the political vices of Austria, that one is prepared for 
the worst in traveling over its territory. There is evi- 
dently more governing done here than in the other 
German States. The taxes are heavier, the police regu- 
lations more vigilant and rigid. The general aspect of 
the population in Bohemia looks melancholy. Its 
country villages resemble those of Ireland, consisting 
of low, thatched huts, with little above ground but 
the roof. The land is in the hands of a few, some of 
whom keep their tenants in a state of hopeless poverty. 
Such pictures of misery as I met with in Prague, I 
have seen nowhere in Germany. Whether it is owing 
to a bad Government, or a want of thrift and industry 
in the Bohemians, or perhaps to both, I do not know. 

Prague, the old capital of Bohemia, is one of the 
four largest cities in Germany, if German it may be 
called, for the Bohemian is mostly spoken. Jerome of 
Prague and Huss preached in this ancient city. The 
goose-quill in Luther's dream reached from Bohemia to 



368 THE CHURCHES OF PRAGUE. 

Rome. At the western end of the city a chapel crowns 
a hill-top, marking the spot where the Bavarians put 
an end to Protestantism in Bohemia by the sword. 
The churches of Prague are mostly built in the Byzan- 
tine style, and look like the sacred monuments of many 
centuries. They have grown black with age, and the 
small arched windows near the ceiling have become so 
dark with dust, as to admit just light enough to pro- 
duce a dim twilight, which half conceals their grand 
ornaments. The doors are beset with beggars, whose 
ragged, pitiful appearance forms a sad contrast to the 
vast profusion of gold and costly decorations within. One 
is tempted to say, despite the merits of bringing Art into 
the service of Religion : Why were not these things 
sold and given to the poor? After all, the first duty 
seems to be to relieve the suffering. But, perhaps, 
Prague had not so many poor when these churches were 
built. In one church there was a large crucifix. Few 
passed it without kissing its feet, which were consider- 
ably worn by the practice. Others would kiss the glass 
over a painting of the Virgin and her child. 

A long and tedious day's ride on the cars brought me 
to Vienna, through a country where mountains and 
valleys continuously alternate. At a country village 
along the way an Austrian soldier entered the cars, who 
had been on a short visit to his native home. His 
parents followed him, weeping. When the brave man 
started he endeavored to dissemble his grief by waving 
his cap out of the window, and singing his "Hollah ! 
hollah !" a short chorus of a soldier's song. With a 
choked utterance he shouted back a parting " lebe 
wohl!" and then sat himself down to give vent to his 



THE FARE OF AN AUSTRIAN SOLDIER. 369 

suppressed emotion by weeping. Perhaps he felt that 
he was the stay of their declining years, and would 
fain have comforted their old age. A hard life many 
of these poor soldiers have. Many a one I have seen 
taking a meal from his knapsack with only black 
bread and salt. 



24 



CHAPTER XIX 



VIENNA. TRIESTE. VENICE. MILAN. GENOA. 

FLORENCE. 



I arrived at Vienna late in the evening of November 
21st. As my custom was, I at once started out from 
the cars, discarding cabs and their boisterous drivers, 
down a broad street, which I afterwards found to be 
the Baterstrasse, seeing the sights, and in the meanwhile 
looking out for a hotel. Guided by my traveling 
instinct, and the stream of people, I crossed the bridge 
over a branch of the Danube into the old city, which 
led into a ten-feet wide street, and soon conducted 
me to the Hotel de Londres, which made my stay 
in Vienna very comfortable. Early the next morning 
I sallied forth through the narrow streets in quest 
of churches, which in Catholic countries are open from 
five in the morning until evening. Large cities have 
so many things in common, that it is a waste of time 
and patience to run after any and everything, which the 
"Guide Book" considers worthy of being seen. Next 
to the churches, I found the most interesting collection 
of natural curiosities on the Bourse, or Stock Exchange. 
These Exchanges are the Mammon markets of the 
country, where men can acquire and cultivate that 
peculiar disposition of heart, which the Scriptures call 
"the root of all evil," and on this account are assem- 
bled exhibitions of a certain phase of human nature, 
which if not very creditable to possess, is at least 

370 



THE VIENNA EXCHANGE. 371 

worthy of being studied. The Vienna Exchange differs 
from all others which I have seen. My first impres- 
sions of it were those of a row, where dozens were 
about to engage in mutual floggings. The large 
multitude were parcelled off in smaller squads surround- 
ing the auctioneer, or owner of saleable stock. For 
awhile they would nibble cautiously ; a bid or two 
would increase the demand, and then a dozen would 
rush with uplifted, clenched fists and excited features 
toward the salesman, all screaming their bids at the 
top of their voices. Some stamped with their feet, and 
looked as if they would leap at him over the heads 
of the crowd, until he was carried along with them 
into some corner. His face became red with intense 
excitement; the bidders bellowed their railings at him 
for not heeding their offers, and he screamed with 
his stentorian voice at the multitudein reply. Others 
observing the excitement, quickly approach, asking 
the first they meet, "Wie stehts?" and then shouting 
their bid of ten thousand, or fifty thousand, add their 
part to the confusion. In the meanwhile clusters 
are gathering in other quarters, the beginnings of 
similar tumults. And while this is going on, scores are 
pressing through the crowded hall in quest of some 
one, trying their utmost to cry his name loud enough 
to be heard above the noise of the excited bidders. 
The whole scene is a tumult of greedy, grasping natures, 
whose faces show that their souls are burning with a 
passion for gain. 

Vienna, in point of intelligence, ranks far above 
Prague. The churches of this city even excel those of 
Prague in splendor. Several by/an tine churches are 



372 A SUNDAY IN VIENNA. 

indescribably grand. The sides and pillars are cov- 
ered with stuccoe work, the lofty arched ceilings with 
Scriptural paintings and raised frescoe; the side 
chapels are lined with arched roofs of the finest 
marble, which looks like one solid piece. These together 
with numerous paintings decorating every shrine, make 
such an infinitude of ornamental work, that a person 
is utterly confounded in their examination, and yet it is 
an agreeable confusion. 

On Sunday I heard several sermons on the final 
judgment by Catholic priests, which, with a single 
exception, would have" been equally adapted for a 
Protestant audience. During the afternoon I was pres- 
ent at service in the Church of St. Stephen, the 
largest in the city. At Vespers a large crowd assem- 
bled. It was a dark, stormy night, and the interior 
of the Church derived but faint light from the few 
flickering tapers along the columns. The ceiling and 
lofty pillars, one hundred feet in height, are almost 
entirely black. The building was finished five hundred 
years ago. Beneath this dark canopy, whose outlines 
could be dimly traced by the imperfect lights, they 
sang their Te Deum, a plain, simple air. I stood at the 
far end, over three hundred feet from the high altar, 
which was at the extreme end of this dark vista, 
whose dazzling, ornamental work reflected back the 
light of the candles around it, over the large congre- 
gation, and increased the surrounding darkness. Some 
knelt, some stood, a few sat in the stalls, but all sang 
their "heilig, heilig," with simple, pathetic devotion. 
Its effect was something different from that produced 
by the splendors of Art. 



CHURCH MUSIC AND WORSHIP. 373 

We can mistake the impressions of enrapturing 
music or excellent paintings as pure devotion, when 
they are perhaps nothing more than what an educated 
unbeliever might experience. But here there is some- 
thing which is "spirit and life." It need not be 
within a splendid Cathedral, to produce this effect. 
To feel its sweetest charms you must wander among 
alpine solitudes. As you reach a quiet village at 
night-fall, the Vesper-bell calls to prayer, upon which 
the laboring villagers will flock to their chapel. Those 
who cannot, will respond to the summons by repeating 
their prayers with uncovered heads in the open fields 
and streets. Others retire from labor, with their 
scythes, hoes and other working implements, repair 
to the sanctuary, and close the day with religious 
worship. The perceptible fatigue of the day; their 
plain, working-day apparel ; their common, simple 
Vesper hymn, sung with the voice of simple praise, 
make a far deeper impression than the grandest piles 
of art. I cannot disguise it, that the scene and the 
song have often pleasantly haunted me for many days. 

I need not here repeat all the peculiar practices 
of the Catholic Church, which shock our sense of 
religious propriety; their worship of the Virgin Mary, 
praying to Saints, and many others. I have seen so 
much of it, as to convince me that some of them 
cannot well be designated by any other terms but 
superstition and idolatry. But I do not envy the 
man who can see nought but unmixed superstition in 
the fervid, daily devotion and childlike praises of many 
Catholics. It may be said that their acts of worship 
become a mere habit, but we must at least allow it 



374 STREET LIFE OP VIENNA. 

to be a very good habit. The Catholic Church has 
doubtless gained much for herself and her members, by 
making religious worship such a prominent every -day 
duty. Her chapels are frequented' during all hours 
of the day. The beggar here and there meets a way- 
side chapel, in which he can kneel down aside of his 
knapsack, and worship his Maker. The laborer in the 
midst of his toil will give a few moments of his 
precious time to religion. Often have I seen them with 
their aprons and tools beside them, kneeling in the 
retirement of the sanctuary in prayer. And their 
intense, undivided earnestness, their undissembled con- 
trition show r s that they have a sense and desire for 
eternal things. 

Vienna is a city of suburbs, in which the most 
of its population resides. The old city, or Vienna 
proper, contains about sixty thousand inhabitants ; with 
the suburbs it has nearly half a million. The former, like 
most old cities, abounds with narrow, crooked, disjointed 
streets. Many are arched over by superincumbent 
dwellings. A wide moat, a branch of the Danube, 
and a large park separate it from its thirty-four sub- 
urban districts, with which it connects with twelve 
gates. The old city is not very unlike New York, in 
its noise and confusion of business. From morning 
till night its narrow streets are filled with the deaf- 
ening clatter of vehicles and anxious faces, which 
look as if they were bent on business of some kind. 
The windows along its narrow streets are hung with a 
costly display of merchandize, and the houses are so lofty, 
that some of them are seldom cheered by sunshine. The 
suburbs are less crowded because they have wider streets. 



THE CHURCHES OF VIENNA. 375 

From some cause or other, the city is frequently visited 
by violent currents of wind. It is said to have scarcely 
forty days in the year that are without their storms, 
which my own experience confirmed. For several days 
violent rain storms prevailed, when persons would push 
their flapping umbrellas through the streets, weathering 
the storm with stubborn determination. Some held 
on to the tattered wrecks, others had them twisted 
and tortured into inverted shapes ; some held on to 
their hats, while others with provoked mien and uncov- 
ered heads pursued their fugitive slouches with eager 
haste. So I bravely defied this storm through the unin- 
viting streets for nearly two whole days, without serious 
accident, and the small result of my labors seems all 
the more precious from its cost. I could not evade 
the fury of the storm, but my faithful cloak, though 
often dripping wet, sheltered me from the copious 
showers. 

Vienna has thirty-one Catholic, and two Protestant 
chufches. The latter have nine thousand members. 
The number of Catholic churches seem small for their 
membership, but with their custom of worshipping 
during the whole day on the Sabbath, they can accom- 
modate more comparatively, than the same number 
of Protestant churches could. And a large number 
of their members take up little room. If they were 
all good Catholics, their churches would not be large 
enough. The perceptible morality of the city seems 
no worse than that of other German cities generally. 
Of course it is natural that the metropolis of a vast 
Empire, abounding in wealth and commercial activity, 
should have its vices and follies. If Austria pines 



376 FROM VIENNA TO TRIESTE. 

and droops beneath the fetters of despotism, the passing 
stranger can discover little of it in its capital. Catholic 
Vienna has even a better Sunday than Protestant 
Hamburg or Berlin. There is far less traffic here 
on the Lord's day. I did not see a single store open 
from morning till night. The city had at least the 
outward appearance of cessation of labor, which, how- 
ever, cannot be said of all Catholic cities. Balls, 
theatres, and all places of amusement did their utmost 
to desecrate it in another direction. 

From Vienna I reached Trieste, on the Adriatic, 
in thirty-four hours. A railroad has been con- 
structed across the Semmering, by means of fourteen 
consecutive tunnels. The scenery over this mountain 
yields little to some of the finest portions of Switzerland. 
Some of the mountains were dotted with small patches 
of arable ground to the top, doubtless made so by 
• the pressure of want. On the top of the mountain 
we were enveloped in a heavy snow-storm. 

At three o'clock the next morning we reached 
Laibach, the present terminus of the railroad. From 
here the passengers were forwarded in coaches, or 
rather a species of wagons which I chiefly remember 
for their want of comfort. Three horses fastened to 
it with ropes, tugged the heavy craft along with 
great exertion. The chief apartment had two seats; 
the other was occupied by the conductor, and outside 
sat the* postillion. Four were the sum total, two 
attendants and two passengers, for this nondescript 
equipage. We jogged along at a snail's pace over the 
long, cold way of a dreary country and season, 
whose dullness was relieved occasionally by partaking of 



A DREARY JOURNEY. 377 

some unpalatable refreshments by the wayside, which, 
however, were not always refreshing. At one place 
the landlady had set a greasy table for a dozen pas- 
sengers, and received us two with an air of disap- 
pointment. One dish gave us much labor, which I 
soon dismissed as unmanageable, but my companion 
tore and stripped at its tough fibres with desperate 
perseverance. But one may be glad if he fares no 
worse. Fortunately my fellow-traveler was a well- 
read and well-traveled gentleman, who had spent some 
years in the United States, so that we beguiled the 
tedium of the journey in discussing politics and the 
merits of authors. We converted our gloomy, clatter- 
ing cell, with its lack of physical comfort, into a scene 
of mental diversion. At length we arrived on the 
ridge of a mountain, from where we saw the numerous 
lights glimmering from the streets of Trieste far below 
us, which we reached in about an hour by a winding 
descent. 

Trieste derives its importance chiefly from its mari- 
time position. Its harbor is crowded with vessels from 
every port, and its streets are thronged with Germans, 
French, English, Americans, Italians and Turks, whose 
various costumes present a varied scene. I spent a 
day in seeing its curiosities, among which its large 
market, extending through whole streets, was not the 
least. 

I left Trieste in a steamer for Venice, which we 
reached in six hours. From the steamer I rode to 
the hotel in a gondola, a narrow, nimble, long skiff, 
the customary cab of Venice. A short spell of ecstasy 
would be pardonable, in approaching this famous resort 






378 A SNOW-STORM IN VENICE. 

of poets and invalids, but at this season there is little 
reward for either in paying it a visit. On a day 
like the present (first of December), there is little 
poetry in its sky or scenery. While I am writing, 
a furious snow-storm is blowing over the city, which 
commenced last night. The snow Mies with a profusion 
that would be creditable to a Lapland winter. This 
morning a few sharp elaps of thunder were heard. 
There would be nothing unpleasant in a snow-storm by 
a comfortable fire, but fires are seldom found here. 
There is a stove in my room, which I ordered to be 
heated this morning ; but the Venetians are so ignorant 
in the art of fire-making, that the whole force of 
servants could not kindle it. So I wrapped myself 
in a large cloak, and wrote till my fingers became 
numb, then hurried to the cafe for a cup of coffee 
to warm me again. Thus 1 have worried through 
the day, until near its close. While visions of home- 
comforts, a warm study, and smiling friends pass 
through the mind, I wonder where to find "sunny, 
smiling Italy." If I am prosy, this cold shoulder 
which Venice has turned me, is somewhat to blame. 
Furs and winter clothing are more abundant here than 
in the North. The Italians are very much afraid of the 
first changes of autumn ; they cover their faces as if there 
were poison in the atmosphere. The citizens have a sickly 
appearance. The beauty of a Venetian winter is all a 
dream. The most pleasant season, especially for invalids, 
are the early months of autumn, about Sept. and Oct. 
The dwellings are constructed with a view to shelter 
against excessive heat. But the damp cold of the winter, 
which would be tolerable with northern fires, penetrates 
the rooms, and renders them very uncomfortable. 



VENICE. 379 

This little State, once a power dreaded by all na- 
tions, has a checkered history. Once it was a de- 
mocracy, then a monarchy, then an aristocracy, with 
twelve hundred noble families to rule over it. In 
1848 it declared its independence from Austria, but 
could not maintain it. Its glory has departed, its 
palaces are faded, and many of them deserted. Its 
past, combining much virtue and folly, is the storehouse 
for poetry and song. Once its canals resounded with 
the airs of its merry boatmen, but now — 

" In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 
And silent rows the songless gondolier." 

But a most singular city this is, whose principal 
streets are canals, and whose wagons and carriages are 
all boats. No horse or wagon is seen in all Venice. 
Its broadest streets are scarcely twelve feet wide, and 
some not half that width, and these lined with piles of 
six-story palaces. Nearly all the principal palaces, six 
hundred in number, front on the canals, which pene- 
trate the city in every direction. The numerous bridges 
are all crossed by a series of stone steps. A few 
streets are thronged with a stream of people. Many 
are almost entirely deserted. The population has 
dwindled down to a hundred and twenty thousand. 
The Rialto, a large bridge, which spans the grand 
canal with one arch, is lined on both sides across it 
with small stores and shops, and still, as in Shake- 
peare's time, remains a thoroughfare. 

" Signor Antonio, many a time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my monies, and my usuries." 

The abundance of traffic still attracts many a greedy, 






380 A RIDE ON THE CANALS. 

Jewish Shylock to Venice. From the rag-dealer in 
the damp cellar, to the wealthy banker, he shows 
his keen scent for gain, and still, in some form or 
other, here as elsewhere — 

"Sufferance is the badge of all his tribe." 

The Bridge of Sighs, connecting the Doge's palace 
and the prison, has become famous by its use in admit- 
ting prisoners, and by the allusions of the poets. Many 
a poor criminal has sighed on its arch. 

'■ The Bridge of Sighs, 
A palace and a prison on each hand : 
I saw from out the wave her structure rise 
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand. 
A thousand j^ears their cloudy winds expand 
Around me, and a dying glory smiles 
O'er the far times, when many a subject land 
Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, 
Where Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles." 

The Lion, the State Symbol of Venice, still looks down 
from almost every church and palace, shorn of the 
proud strength of its former years. 

I spent part of an afternoon with a friend in 
rowing over some of the principal canals in a 
gondola. The gondolier, in his tidy uniform, making 
his vehicle skip over the water with astonishing speed 
and precision; the Venetian ladies, folded in their 
furs, looking all comfort and ease; the authoritative 
officers, whose commanding looks show that they are 
superior in rank to somebody; the citizen and the 
stranger darting along without the clattering of wheels, 
all looking so easy, and yet so active, combine to 
form a novel scene. To see the shady side of Venice 



THE CHURCH OF ST. MARK. 381 

one need only visit the neighborhood of the Rialto, 
where half-clad objects of charity whine at the passing 
crowd for a pittance — some peddling poultry, others a 
few heads of cabbage, auctioneering their mer- 
chandize into market with hideous screams around 
gay shops and stores in which bankers, shavers and 
merchants calmly coin their fortunes. The numerous 
churches, once crowded with worshippers, are little fre- 
quented. Some have as many officiating priests as mem- 
bers of the congregation. The churches abound with 
antique busts and statues. The Church of St. Mark is 
said to contain the remains of the Evangelist of that 
name. The horses over its portals were conveyed to 
Paris by Napoleon I as trophies, but were afterwards 
restored again. 

From the lofty tower of St. Mark I had a distinct 
view of the whole city, which looked like a hazy 
vision that rose out of the sea. Venice has forty 
squares or market places, but only a few of them 
are used for that purpose. The most of them have 
a well in the centre. In the morning they are the 
theatre of bustling confusion, when the Venetian 
females draw water with long ropes. The maidens 
wear high-crowned Tyrolese hats, resembling the shape 
of a sugar-loaf. All have uniform copper kettles, 
which they suspend at each end of a stick and balance 
them across the shoulder. It is amusing to hear the 
chattering noise of their sprightly language, as they 
hurry on or wait upon each other. 

There is still much luxury in Venice. An old 
saying has it: "\ r enice turns night into day." It 
is a custom with many wealthy females to rise and 



382 THE AUSTRIAN EMPEROR AT VENICE. 

breakfast at noon, to dine at six in the evening, 
visit the theatre from nine to twelve, and make calls 
at one in the morning. 

The Emperor and Empress of Austria are spending 
the present month in Venice. He is still a young man, 
tall and somewhat slender, with a countenance that 
looks as benevolent as that of most men. There is 
nothing of the tyrant in his physiognomy, nor has 
he shown much of it during his reign. He 
looks as if his crown sat lightly upon him. But 
he evidently is not merely the puppet of his counsellors. 
He visited the arsenal and other royal institutions, 
which are important agents in his reign. I saw him 
at church on Sunday morning. He engaged in his 
devotions with an earnestness, which looked as if he 
felt his dependence upon something higher and more 
enduring than temporal principalities. His dress was 
as plain as that of his subjects; a gray military 
overcoat, and a low, flat, unadorned cap sheltered 
him from the rain as he led his wife to St. Mark's. 
He even declined the offer of an umbrella. As he 
passed along the street, crowds ran after and around 
them with uncovered heads, to whom he touched his 
little cap, and the Empress made her courtesies in passing. 
They look like a modest, happy couple, but doubtless 
are harassed by greater anxieties than many of their 
humblest subjects. Thrones are often as frail as those 
who are on them. They fall from a greater height, 
and with a more crushing ruin than those beneath them. 
His past belongs rather to his immature years; his future 
will develop the good or evil of his heart. It is 
said he will spend several months in his Italian 
dominions. 



FROM VENICE TO MILAN. 383 

On a dark morning, several hours before dawn, a 
skillful gondolier rowed me over the winding canal 
to the depot. Naught was heard but the measured beat 
of the oar and the slight plashing of the water, and the 
occasional cry of a gondolier shouting a signal to avoid 
collision with some unseen bark. We narrowly escaped 
a shower that was poured out of a lofty garret, to which 
my attendant replied with a menacing tone of voice. 
Taken all together, Venice is quite an original place. A 
city whose streets are canals and whose cabs are barks, 
which is free from the rumbling of carts and carriages, 
in which no horse or beast of burden is ever seen, pos- 
sesses features which have few equals. The source and 
scene of so much fiction and fable, it is not strange that 
a nearer acquaintance with its winter climate should dis- 
pel the illusion of a fictitious Venetian winter. Those 
who never make the experiment may fondly cherish 
their dreams of its perpetual, balmy spring, which they 
get from poets and travelers. But a winter without 
stoves is so chillingly real that it disappoints poetical 
expectations. 

The road to Milan passes by Padua, famous for its 
University. In many places the country resembles a con- 
tinuous garden. Fruit orchards and mulberry gardens 
extend over large districts. Long, leafless vines joined 
the trees, which must form an enchanting scenery dur- 
ing the summer. 

It is natural that an American should look for the 
Lombardy poplar in traveling through Lombardy. A 
few straggling rows I saw, but in tall, stately propor- 
tion they seemed inferior to their transplanted offspring 
in America. The Boza at Venice, a violent fall wind, 



384 WINTER IN MILAN. 

which sometimes overturns the cumbrous diligence by 
its sweeping current, had prepared me for the keen 
damp atmosphere of Milan. Snow fell during every 
night, and the air was so biting as to defy the shelter of 
clothing. While the fur-clad nobility were shivering 
through the streets, bare-footed mendicant friars, with 
nought but a loose brown robe and sandals, bore the 
cold without any apparent discomfort. A most singu- 
lar class of Christians these friars are, who are poor from 
principle and make a virtue of begging. It would seem 
more meritorious if they would employ their powers in 
habits of industry, by means of which they could benefit 
the Church and their fellow-men. 

The Church of St. Ambrose, in the western part of 
the city, was built on the ruins of the temple of Bacchus 
in the fourteenth century. Within her gray walls the 
dust of Ambrose reposes. Here he administered the 
Holy Supper when he locked the door against Theodo- 
sius, until he would repent of his cruelties to the Thessa- 
lonians. I mused for a while in the old court of the 
church, which was most likely the scene of this bold act 
of ministerial duty. A weak unprotected bishop, from 
an honest impulse of duty, tells a proud and mighty 
monarch his crimes, and bids him withdraw and repent 
before he approach the holy sacrament. The Emperor, 
in extenuation of his guilt, refers him to the sins of 
King David. Ambrose replied : " Thou hast imitated 
David in thy crimes, imitate him also in thy repent- 
ance." And Theodosius regarding him as a messenger 
from God, betakes himself to seek repentance and 
pardon. 

The Dom of Milan, "the eighth wonder of the 



THE CATHEDRAL OF MILAN. 385 

world," next to St. Peter's at Rome, and the Dom 
of Seville, is said to be the largest in the world. It 
was commenced more than five hundred years ago. 
In 1805, Napoleon I. ordered its completion, but it 
still remains unfinished. About forty millions of 
dollars have already been spent in its erection. It 
is entirely built of white marble, even down to the 
window sash. Fifty-two columns, eight feet in diame- 
ter, rise majestically, until they blend with the tessel- 
ated roof, one hundred and fifty feet from the floor, 
all ribbed into an endless variety of frett-work, like 
large, petrified leaves. Three large windows at the end 
of the choir contain three hundred Scripture paint- 
ings. Each pain has a distinct painting, extending 
from the Creation to the day of Pentecost. The one 
window is entirely covered with Gospel scenes, com- 
mencing with the marriage of Mary. When the sun 
shines on them, their rich coloring beams with inde- 
scribable splendor. On the roof one is surrounded 
with several hundred marble spires, each crowned with 
a statue. Thousands of marble flowers, chiseled into 
perfectly-formed petals, cover the roof, no two being 
alike, and five thousand statues ornament the vast 
edifice in its various parts. 

A person is never done seeing it. Every successive 
visit discovers new symbols, and reveals new features 
of architectural beauty. The silence of a holy solitude 
seems to dwell beneath its lofty arches, where, even 
among a crowd, one feels alone with God. Even the 
visiting skeptic is afraid to speak above a whisper, 
lest he might disturb the solemn hush of mute grandeur. 
Often and long as I had pondered over it, I felt eager 
25 






386 ART AND NATURE. 

to linger longer amid its wonders. And when on the 
point of leaving, I hastened back once more from 
the ticket office to catch the brief delight of a parting 
moment. And yet it is strange that we should be 
so much charmed by the lifeless images and copies of 
works, which we see in such free abundance around 
us, growing and throbbing beneath the touch of the 
Omnipotent Architect. The flushing colors of life, 
the leaves and limbs, and human bodies that grow 
from an animating principle, possess qualities high 
and mysterious, of which painting and sculpture must 
ever come infinitely short. While the one bodies 
forth shapes and images of Nature, the other is the 
growth of the substance. Why should we marvel 
more at the shadow than the substance? Art devel- 
opes and decays, is faulty or faithful. Nature in its 
types neither changes nor decays. The cedar of Leba- 
non, and the oak of Germany just look as they did 
three thousand years ago. Its life principles will 
always develop the same symmetrical forms in land- 
scapes and living bodies. 

" States fall, Arts fade — but Nature doth not die." 
Very often a church seems all the more sacred 
for being empty. Visiting it alone, you can collect 
and calm your thoughts, without any visible earthly 
disturbings. Charles Lamb, speaking of this difference 
of feeling, which attends us between entering an empty 
aud a crowded church, says: "In the latter it is 
chance, but some present human frailty — an act of 
inattention on the part of some of the auditory — or a 
trait of affectation, or worse, vain-glory on that of the 
preacher — puts us by our best thoughts, disharmoni- 



THE CATHEDRAL BUILDERS. 387 

zing the place and the occasion. But wouldst thou 
know the beauty of holiness? go alone on some week- 
day, borrowing the keys of good Master Sexton, traverse 
the coof aisles of some country church; think of the 
piety that has kneeled there — the congregations, old 
and young, that have found consolation there — the 
meek pastor — the docile parishioner. With no dis- 
turbing emotions, no cross-conflicting comparisons, 
drink in the tranquility of the place, till thou thyself 
become as fixed and motionless as the marble effigies 
that weep and kneel around thee." 

How grand seem the master-builders of the Middle 
Ages! Creating the design of a glorious temple, and 
spending a life-time in laying the foundation — leaving 
the finishing of it to after ages; and these after ages 
taking hold of the work in turn, carrying it forward, 
through centuries, to its completion. Somehow their 
faith taught them to toil patiently from sire to son, 
without expecting ever to see the completion of their 
work. Who would not be willing, or able to work 
so long and so well, on a work for God? Twelve 
months for the building of a church is now a long 
time. It is well that we can build so much sooner; 
for living and dying as fast as people do now, we 
must needs do the work of God more quickly, but 
alas, not so well. It is refreshing to study the lives 
of these old masters, who carved their grand thoughts 
in stone, and graved sermons of Love and Life into 
the undecaying rock. 

In 1835 the family tombstone of Erwin of Stein- 
bach was discovered in the small court behind the 
Chapel of St. John, in the Cathedral of Strasburg. 



388 THE CITY OF GENOA. 

And along the wall is his statue, carved by himself. 
One seems mysteriously to sit at the feet of this 
ancient builder, as he strolls through this building. 
His spirit, with noiseless footsteps, attends your 
goings. His thoughts you read in the durable work 
of his hands. So is it here, so is it in the streets, 
galleries and churches of many old European cities. 

Passing from Milan to Genoa was like a sudden 
transition from January to June. A genial, vernal 
atmosphere hovers cheeringly around the city. Delight- 
ful breezes waft iu an exhilarating temperature from 
the gulf, making winter clothing rather an encum- 
brance than a comfort. The city is beautifully situated 
at the southern base of the Appenines, which form a 
natural rampart to shelter it from the blighting storms 
of the north. The mountain extends around it like 
an amphitheatre. The trees have just received the 
first golden tinge of Autumn, while the ground is 
still clad with verdure, and the gardens with the fresh- 
ness of spring vegetation. It is refreshing to enjoy 
in December the genial atmosphere of a mild May-day, 
and the scenery of June, blending with the first tinges 
of the seared leaf. Around the receding suburbs large 
terraced gardens, interspersed with orange and olive 
trees, rise one above the other. 

The city covers several steep knobs around which 
its streets of palaces are steeply piled in grand magnifi- 
cence. In passing through some of them the topmost 
buildings seem to rest on the roofs of those below 
them. Some are eight and nine stories in height. 
Some can only be approached by winding footpaths. 

An old proverb says, " Genoa has a sea without 



A SUNDAY IN GENOA. 389 

fish, a country without trees, and men without faith." 
But I have eaten of the fish of its sea, seen the trees 
in its gardens, and if the outward is a correct indication 
of the inward, its crowded churches show that its 
men are not all sceptics. The churches were mostly- 
filled during the whole Sunday. And its worshippers 
manifested their devotion in their own way, as fer- 
vently as those of other cities. But outside of the 
churches, the city was like a hive of heathenism. 
While the priests were chanting their psalms, venders 
of merchandise had fixed their temporary stores around 
the church doors. Blind minstrels, street actors and 
jugglers, all had their audiences. Others played a 
sort of Italian "ten pins," or exhibited feats of bodily 
agility, all within sight and hearing of the church 
doors. I have seldom felt more lost and forlorn on 
the Lord's day than here. In the afternoon I wor- 
shipped with a little Scotch Presbyterian flock, in "an 
upper room" of a deserted palace. They sang Devizes, 
an air which carried me back in spirit and memory 
to the period and congregation in which I was first 
taught to sing God's praise. A Scotch brother preached 
on John 6 : 44. Some of these Scotch brethren have a 
dry Theology. The second part of the sermon was 
taken up in a series of manly efforts to extricate his 
hearers out of the fatalism, into which the first had 
entangled them. It is a strange policy to tax the 
minds of practical, unlettered congregations fifty-two 
Sundays in the year, by trying to explain the inex- 
plicable mystery of a subordinate doctrine. Still I 
could easily forgive him the indulgence in his favorite 
dogma, for the comfort which I derived from worship- 



390 GENOA FROM THE SEA. 

ping with them. The following day was a Festival, 
during which the churches were even more crowded 
than on the previous day, and the confusion of the 
street amusements more noisy. 

The Genoese females excel in modest apparel. 
Their plain, but fine clothing, resembling those of 
the Quakers, with a long, white scarf of thin, trans- 
parent gauze, hung across the head, giving them the 
appearance of a tidy simplicity. The name and history 
of Genoa have become identified with the discoverer 
of America, but it is uncertain whether he was a native 
of the city, or of the neighboring village of Cogoleto. 
In the evening as our steamer bore us out of the 
harbor, the moon, at short intervals, peeped a smile 
from behind the clouds, to reveal another glimpse of 
the beauties we were leaving. Some streets resembled 
huge steps leading to the top of a hill, whose crown- 
ing palace looked like the apex of an inhabited pyramid. 
And the mountains with their bleak cones, barren, 
save where the hand of man had made them fertile, 
shone through the dim, fleeting moonlight, embracing 
within their sheltering crescent the lovely city, just as 
they did when Livy described, and the brother of 
Hannibal destroyed its predecessor. Just then, too, 
the Vesper-bells called to prayers. Spme spoke in 
familiar tones, in language which I seemed often to 
have heard. 

" Those evenir g bells ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells 
Of youth and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime." 

While engaged in these pleasant reveries, the swell- 



FROM GENOA TO FLORENCE. 391 

ing sea tossed our boat into one of those long-sided 
gallops, which soon dissipated all sentiment. I thought 
to brave the disgustful monster, but there was no 
escape, until the stomach paid its tardy tribute to the 
Mediterranean. This sea sickness is a ludicrous afflic- 
tion when it is past, but most woeful while it lasts. 
I threw me on my couch, hat, boots and cloak on, as I 
wore them all evening, and so I lay till next morn- 
ing, with not enough resolution to put either of them 
aside. Such is life. We are often "such stuff as 
dreams are made of," a succession of pleasure and pain, 
of romance and reality. Next morning I awoke in 
the harbor of Livorno, where we were kept waiting 
three hours before we could go on shore. Here my 
passport was examined thrice, and the baggage twice in 
the course of an hour. Thence I departed with the 
train for Pisa and Florence. The former city is noted 
for its leaning tower, on which Galileo discovered the 
law of gravitation, and of the latter one says : 

" Of all the fairest cities of the earth, 
None is so fair as Florence." 

In some Italian cities the inhabitants have a strange 
way of disposing of their dead. And in Genoa a very 
unchristian practice seems to prevail. When a person 
among the Jews died, the nearest relatives would close 
his eyes and kiss the corpse. Thereupon the remains 
would be washed and wrapped in a large, clean linen 
cloth, or bandaged with narrow strips of grave-clothes. 
The careful and costly embalming, which Jacob and 
Joseph received, was only accorded to persons of wealth 
and royal lineage. As persons who had touched a 



392 THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD. 

corpse were considered ceremonially unclean, and were 
excluded for a fixed time from the privileges of the 
sanctuary, the dead were mostly buried soon after 
their death, to prevent this ceremonial defilement. 
Besides, in such warm, eastern climates it is, for sani- 
tary reasons, unwise to delay the burial of the dead. 
Their burial-places were usually outside the towns, 
(Luke i. 12; John xi. 30), save in the case of kings 
and prophets. (2 Sam. xxviii. 3; xxvii). The tombs 
consisted of natural or excavated caves. Whoever 
could aiford it, had a family burying-place. (Gen. 
xxiii. 30). Not to rest with one's " fathers" was a 
sad misfortune. Burial-places were specially provided 
for pilgrims, strangers, and poor people. (Jer. xxvi. 
23; 2 Kings xxiii. 6; Matthew xxvii. 7). Here and 
there a monument would mark a tomb. (2 Sam. xviii. 
18). The graves of evil-doers were covered with a 
heap of stones. (Joshua vii. 26; viii. 29). To this 
day the passing Moslem hurls a stone at the monument 
over Absalom's grave, outside the walls of Jerusalem, 
until a large pile of stones has accumulated. 

The early Christians, like the Jews, buried their 
dead; the heathen custom of burning them was dis- 
carded. The funeral ceremonies were decently and 
devoutly performed. When Stephen was stoned to 
death, "devout men carried him to his burial, and 
made great lamentation over him." (Acts viii. 2). 
In the reign of Charlemagne some of the Saxons 
burned their dead, whereupon this monarch made such 
an offence of burning punishable by death. 

The early Christians used to hold their meetings 
of worship around the graves of the saints. They had 



THE SEPULCHRES OF THE SAINTS. 393 

such a deep veneration for their dust, that they con- 
secrated their graves by building churches over them. 
Thus St. Peter's of Rome is built over the alleged 
grave of the Apostle Peter; and St. Paul's in the same 
city is on the reputed tomb of the Apostle to the 
Gentiles. In the process of time superstition ascribed 
miraculous power to the bones and dead bodies of the . 
saints. The relics of the dead acquired a fabulous 
value. Cities fought bloody battles to get possession 
of the ashes of the saints, whom they persecuted and 
tortured while living. 

There is a touching fitness in the old custom of 
burying the dead in the "church-yard." What place 
so well suited for their rest as the ground and grove 
consecrated by the deeds and devotions of their pious 
life; right around the sanctuary, where the living and 
the dead remain in peaceful company. And as one 
after another falls asleep, their near repose in the "God's 
Acre," helps to keep them under the eye and in 
the heart of their survivors. 

" I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 

The burial-ground God's Acre ! It is just ; 
It consecrates each grave within its walls, 

And breathes abenison o'er the sleeping dust. 
" God's Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 

Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown 
The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts, 

Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own." 

In Italy and the East some large churches have 
underground apartments, specially arranged for the 
storing away of human remains. In a building in 
the Convent Garden at Mount Sinai, the dead of 
centuries are treasured up. One room contains the 






394 SINGULAR CABINETS OF HUMAN BONES. 

bones of priests, the other those of lay-monks. After 
two or three years the dead bodies are laid on iron 
grates in a separate vault. After that the bones are 
separated and assorted. The arms are laid on one 
pile, the legs on another, the ribs on a third, etc. The 
bones of archbishops, whose bodies, with their clothing 
and property, are always brought here after death, are 
kept in small wooden boxes. In this abode of death 
one feels strangely and solemnly impressed. The 
members of this silent family are steadily increased 
by the yearly arrival of new ones. 

" It must be a solemn feeling, one should think, 
with which the monks repair to this spot, and look 
upon these relics of mortality — their predecessors, their 
brethren, their daily companions, all present here 
before them, in their last earthly shape of ghastliness; 
with whom, too, their own bones must so soon, in 
like manner, be mingled piecemeal, and be gazed upon 
perhaps, like them, by strangers from a distant world. 
I know of no place where the living and the dead 
come in closer contact with each other, or where the 
dread summons to prepare for death, rises with a 
stronger power before the mind." 

Such an arrangement is only feasible in a very 
dry climate, as is found in Egypt and Arabia. In 
the south of Europe it is attended with more disagree- 
able and damaging results. Dickens tells of a custom 
prevailing in Genoa, which is an outrage on civiliza- 
tion. 

"There is very little tenderness for the bodies of 
the dead here. For the very poor, there are imme- 
diately outside one angle of the walls, and behind a 



THE GRAVES OF GENOA. 395 

jutting point of the fortification, near the sea, certain 
common pits — one for every day in the year — which 
all remain closed up, until the turn of each comes 
for its daily reception of dead bodies. Among 
the troops in the town there are usually some Swiss, 
more or less. When any of these die, they are 
buried out of a fund maintained by such of their 
countrymen as are residents in Genoa. Their provi- 
ding coffins for these men is a matter of great astonish- 
ment to the authorities. Certainly, the effect of this 
promiscuous and indecent splashing down of dead 
people into so many wells, is bad. It surrounds 
death with revolting associations, that insensibly become 
connected with those whom death is approaching. In- 
difference and avoidance are the natural result; and 
all the softening influences of the great sorrow are 
harshly disturbed. 

" When the better kind of people die, or are at the 
point of death, their nearest relations generally walk 
off; retiring into the country for a little change, and 
leaving the body to be disposed of without any super- 
intendence from them. At Rome there is a similar 
arrangement, where many of the poor classes are 
dumped down like so many hides into tanners' vats. 

"It is a comfort to know that the Genoese and 
Romans find few imitators of these inhuman customs. 
In many an Italian Cemetery, beautified by nature and 
by art, the rich and the poor meet together, and 
peacefully slumber, side by side. 

"Few men are honored with so grand a monu- 
ment as Charles Borromeo, who sleeps under the 
altar of the Cathedral of Milan. He was a great and 



396 CHARLES BORROMEO. 

good man. So faithfully did he minister to the young 
and old of his flock, that it was said of him he 
knew but two streets in Milan; that which led to 
the school, and that which led to the church. He 
turned his back upon the world, and spent his vast 
fortune for the relief of the poor and afflicted. He 
founded 740 schools, manned with 3,040 teachers, 
and 40,000 scholars are recorded. He wore out his 
life in serving the sick and dying during a great 
plague. He sold his furniture and his plate to buy 
bread for the poor, even gave them his straw-bed, and 
slept on a board. For three hundred years, Catholics 
and Protestants have alike revered his memory. 
Beneath the lofty arches, in an underground chapel 
of one of the grandest churches ever erected by the 
hand of man, repose the remains of the good man. 
The man who wore the plainest clothing, and discarded 
all ornaments, that he might the better be able to 
relieve the poor, now lies imbedded in gold and silver, 
jewels and precious metals. 

"The tapers which are lighted down there, flash 
and gleam on alte-relievi in gold and silver, delicately 
wrought by skillful hands, and representing the princi- 
pal events in the life of the saint. Jewels and precious 
metals shine and sparkle on every side. A windlass 
slowly removes the front of the altar; and within it, 
in a gorgeous shrine of gold and silver, is seen through 
alabaster the shrivelled mummy of a man, the ponti- 
fical robes with which it is adorned, radiant with 
diamonds, emeralds, rubies, very costly and magnificent 
gems. The shrunken heap of poor earth, in the midst 
of this great litter, is more pitiful than if it lay on 



FLORENCE. '397 

a dunghill. There is not a ray of imprisoned light 
in all the flash and fire of jewels, that seems to mock 
the dusty holes where eyes were once. Every thread 
of silk in the rich vestments seems only a provision 
from the worms that spin, for the behoof of worms 
that propagate in sepulchres." 

Florence has at present an American Indian Sum- 
mer (15th of Dec.) Warm rains and a few hours 
of sunshine in the afternoon still give nature a fresh 
appearance. The mountains Mastering around it, cov- 
ered with country villas, lawns and lofty avenues of 
evergreen, look very pretty. With considerable effort 
I clambered on the top of a few, from where I had an 
enchanting view of Florence and its environs. It 
looks like other Italian cities, with its full share of 
the filth, rags and beggary, so inseparable from muni- 
cipal antiquities, with which the muddy waters of the 
Arno flowing through it are in full keeping. These 
mountains on which Dante dreamed and Galileo 
watched and followed the course of the stars, seen 
beneath the clear blue sky, and through the transparent 
atmosphere of Italy, cannot easily be described. Here 
a knightly castle crowns a steep knoll, and there an 
unfrequented chapel moulders in vernal solitude, around 
which a world of beauty spreads out before the vision. 

" Its upland sloping deck the mountain side, 
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride, 
While aft some temples' mouldering tops between, 
With venerable grandeur marks the scene." 

The Italian atmosphere, so clear and transparent, adds 
much to the beauty of its scenery. Objects, and espe- 
cially natural scenery, can be seen at a distance of 



398 THE CHURCHES OF FLORENCE. 

many miles as distinctly as if they were near by. 
The churches of Florence, of which it boasts 170 for 
its 100,000 inhabitants, are not equal to those of some 
of its northern neighbors. From the number of 
chapels and priests the Florentines should be a goodly 
people. The streets abound with the latter, whom one 
readily recognizes by their polished shoe-buckles, short 
breeches and grotesque hats. The church of Santa 
Croce, the Westminster Abbey of Florence, contains 
the dust and monuments of Italian genius. Italy 
excels all the world for cruel ingratitude to her great 
men. She has canonized them for a martyrdom, which 
she herself has inflicted ; and builds the tombs of the 
Poets and the Philosophers whom she has killed. How 
cruelly she hunted down poor Tasso and other favorites 
of the Muses. Here in this sacred temple Florence 
perpetuates with costly marble the memory of her 
three sons, whose life she embittered by desertion, 
imprisonment and exile. Machiavelli is honored with 
a noble monument, and his house is preserved as a 
sacred relic, in which he sought relief from famishing 
want by poison. A splendid monument tells the fame 
of the immortal Dante, who, after fifteen years of exile, 
spurned the invitation to return to his native city. 
And after his death the Pope forbade them to remove 
even his remains to Santa Croce. On his splendid 
marble sarcophagus is inscribed in letters of gold. 

Ornate I'altissimo poeta. 
And then her Galileo, whom she incarcerated for 
making one of the greatest discoveries that ever had 
dawned upon the world, and made him end his life 
of unmerited ignominy and suffering in his cell. But 



THE ART GALLERIES OF FLORENCE. 399 

even England that boasts of great humanity, left 
another star in astronomical science pine away in want. 

" No mortal spirit yet had clomb so high, 
As Kepler — yet his country saw him die 
For very want ! the minds alone he fed, 
And so the bodies left him without bread." 

Within these damp walls Michel Angelo is buried. 
But monuments more enduring than that around his 
tomb, are in some of the Florentine galleries of Fine 
Arts. These contain some of the best works of the 
old masters. The present generation of Italian artists 
are chiefly copyists. The productive period of Italian 
Art is past. In everything she is dependent upon her 
past. Her halls of Art are crowded with busy artists, 
but all copy. In strolling through the two principal 
galleries for several days, I was sometimes almost as 
forcibly impressed by the physiognomy and peculiarities 
of the copyists as by the paintings. And I thought in 
my simplicity, if I were a painter as much as I am not, 
I would like to give to the world a painting of 
this original scene. The isolating Englishman, whose 
nicely parted hair over the back of his head and tight 
choking little collar, are symbolical of his partitioning 
disposition, and the adventurous young Jonathan, whose 
dashing, hopeful looks show a disdain for inherited 
reputation ; the dark-eyed Italian maiden, with hair 
glistening like the feathers of a raven, and the matron 
of the north peering over, under, and through her spec- 
tacles to get the correct features ; the starched, bejeweled 
Parisian fop, and the poorly-clad menial with greasy, 
thread-bare garments; the gray-headed, care-worn sire 
and the aspiring youth making his apprentice efforts; 



400 FLORENTINE SCENERY. 

all were grouped together on stands, chairs and tripods, 
brushing and penciling the canvas for money, fame 
or bread. To multiply works of merit, so as to bring 
them within the reach of many, copying may be of 
great use, but as a branch of the Art it falls infi- 
nitely short of the true idea of Painting. It does 
not express the thoughts of the artist himself, but simply 
gives a transcript of those of another. The works of 
the copyist are all quotations. ' 

In early life, everything that we see and hear, is 
educational. Blessed are the young, who hear and 
see much that is refining and ennobling. Italy 
is favored with great beauty of scenery. Its land- 
scapes are unequalled. And chief among these is 
that around Florence. Mountains, holding lovely 
glens in their embrace; fruitful valleys, sloping down 
to Arno's banks; trees of large variety, receiving- 
richest coloring from the peculiarity of atmosphere 
and climate — all combine to make Florence 

" A gem 
Of purest ray, a treasure for a casket." 

This has for many centuries made it the attraction 

of artists; and these, in turn, have enriched it with 

their rare works. On these lovely landscapes Michel 

Angelo looked from a child. He caught his grandest 

inspirations from this school of Nature. To him there 

was no place like the quiet, pure retreats of the 

mountains. In later life he fled from the Spaniards 

when they besieged Rome. Entirely alone, he sought 

peace and safety among the hills. When he was 

brought back, he sadly exclaimed: "I have left more 

than half my soul there; for truly there is no peace 

but in the woods." 



CHAPTER XX. 



VIENNA. ACROSS THE APENNINES. ROME. FRASCATI. 

ALBANO. TIVOLI. THE VATICAN. THE POPE 

AND THE PEOPLE. THE CATACOMBS. THE 

GHETTO OR JEWISH QUARTER. 



It was on the 15th of December, before day-break, 
as I drearily walked toward the depot in Florence. 
On the dark cold streets I met many people going to 
early Mass. At Sienna, a Tuscan city, thirty-one miles 
south-east of Florence, I tarried a few hours. A host 
of impertinent porters and guides would scarcely let 
me pass along the street, seizing hold of my satchel in 
spite of my remonstrance. From here I proceeded 
by diligence. 

On a pleasant afternoon in the middle of December, 
I climbed on the coach that was to carry me to Rome. 
I took a seat with the conductor on the top, so as 
to have a view of the country through which we passed. 
Soon we were overtaken by showers, which hid the 
moon until the view extended only to the boisterous 
postillions, who beat their limping jades along with 
laborious cruelty. Sometimes we had eight horses tug- 
ging us up the mountain — once six horses and four 
large oxen pulled us up at a tedious pace. We had 
already reached the second night, in a dreary, unin- 
habited region, where the guide books and the lovers 
of frightful stories put robbers. A young Pole sat 
him beside me to indulge in visions of the terrible. 
26 401 



402 THE FIRST SIGHT OF HOME. 

For a long distance we met with no dwelling. Each 
mused in silence over the dismal scene, when at length 
my friend remarked: "In truth it looks robber-like 
enough." Looking out into the dark void, all fell 
into a dreamy hush again, until the conductor broke 
the long silence by exclaiming "Rome!" when lo! a 
few straggling lights shone dimly through the dark, 
misty distance; and there was Rome. It was a charm- 
ing sight, those little glaring tapers, and called up 
thoughts of the stars of ancient Rome, as they still 
shine down upon us through the hazy night of many 
centuries. They evoked visions of her glory and her 
shame. The city of the Cfesars! how gratefully I 
approached her gates; for even to afford me shelter 
from another cold and dismal night, in the unprotected 
Campagna, was not a trifling favor. 

One may well give way to a thrill of joy, when 
he emerges out of a dreary waste, haunted by robbers 
and wild beasts, and sees himself approaching the 
ancient city, once the metropolis of the civilized world, 
with a prospect of standing upon the theatre, where 
the eventful drama of ages transpired, and ponder over 
the decaying vestiges of her power and glory. A 
formal glance at us by a stern-looking official at the 
gate, and our cumbrous coach rumbled through a 
series of interesting, narrow streets — interesting, because 
the beginning of Roman sight-seeing, for they looked 
as bleak as midnight well could make them. Then 
into a large court, and the heavy gate was barred 
behind us. After a short custom-house ceremony, I 
went with my Polish friend to convenient lodgings. 
The following day we sallied forth in search of a 



THE COUNTRY AROUND ROME. 403 

more permanent residence, which gave us a lesson in 
the rudiments of treading in the mysterious and crooked 
footsteps of the ancients. I found a room near the 
base of the Quirinal. Here, then, I will erect my tent 
for a month, while I stroll along the banks of the 
Tiber, which twenty centuries have strewn with ruins. 
Ruins! strange that we should delight to look upon 
the decay of other countries when we mournfully shrink 
from a contemplation of that of our own. But every 
one will first look for these, and so I forthwith betook 
me to the Forum and the Coliseum, and often repeated 
the visit since, and still I go. In my haste I passed 
by Christian churches to see heathen temples. Indeed 
many of the ancients were very respectable people, 
Pagans as they were. These temples are monuments 
of their earliest searchings and gropings after "the 
unknown God." But for the grace of God, and His 
revealed Word, the present generation of our race would 
be no better. 

During the flourishing period of the Empire, the 
country around Rome was covered with villas or coun- 
try seats. While all traces have been lost of some, 
others are partially preserved in honor of their worthy 
occupants of yore. I look upon my country excur- 
sions as the most delightful reminiscences of my visit. 
One of unusual interest I made in company with a 
friend to the Alban hills. We started on one of those 
pleasant days, neither cold nor hot, for which the 
Italian December is so famous. To Frascati, a distance 
of twelve miles, we took the cars. From here we 
ascended to the crest of a lofty hill, the site of ancient 
Tusculum, the birth-place of Cato. Its few unten- 



404 THE ALBANIAN LAKE. 

anted ruins still gave proof of its ancient power. Imme- 
diately below is the villa of Cicero, commanding a 
view of the bleak Campagna, with Rome in its centre, 
like an isle in the sea. Leaning against the murky 
walls I feasted for a short time on the prospect, and 
then reaching up to pluck a few ivy leaves from what 
once was a stately dwelling, and a few dahlias around 
the front, as mementoes, we descended into a narrow 
valley covered with cane-fields and grazing herds. 
Then ascended another knob crowned with a little 
village; thence along a beautiful ridge to Lake Alban. 
This lovely sheet of water spreads out in the crater 
of an extinct volcano, and is about six miles in cir- 
cumference. The ancients, fearful that its waters would 
burst their banks and deluge the adjacent country, 
constructed a subterranean canai through the mountain 
to draw them to a safer level. Its banks now rise 
perhaps four hundred feet above the surface of the 
water. In some places olive groves slope to the water's 
edge, and fertile vegetable beds adorn its borders. Its 
banks, a little mountain embracing the lake in its 
circle, are partly covered with aged elms, overhanging 
one of the most enchanting roads I have ever trod. 
In one direction lay the vast Campagna, and in the other, 
far down, the placid little lake, with a solitary bark 
floating over its dimpling, clear surface. Beyond it 
runs a succession of bleak volcanic cones, separated by 
dells of scanty vegetation. But this charming little 
sea I — it is like a precious pearl in a diadem — like a 
calm, bright eye beneath a care-worn brow, through 
which a pure, serene soul beams with peace upon us. On 
the outside declivity is Albano, associated with classic 



THE HILLS OF ALBANO. 405 

memories. The apple trees on Tusculum, and the 

numerous vines creeping over cane frames around the 

base of the Alban hills, reminded me of their luscious 

vegetable fruit, of which Horace and Virgil sang. On 

a projection of the mountain in front of the village 

is a grove commanding an extensive view. After our 

pleasant, but fatiguing rambles, we spent the hour 

of closing day here. For awhile we mused over the 

dreary, dreaded country, 

" Where Campagna's plain forsaken lies, 
A weary waste, expanded to the skies." 

But as the sun approached the horizon, a sheet of 

red, luminous haze bathed the earth's surface. The 

Mediterranean shone like a sea of molten silver, bearing 

here and there a sail, while the departing rays shone 

With a mellow, half-shaded light upon Rome, which 

gave it the appearance of a beautiful painting. The 

wheat, grass and canc-fields were bathed by the sunset 

in various colors. The distant bleating of flocks ; the 

jingling of mule-bells, and the urging shout of the 

drivers; the hammering of the smithy; the laugh and 

prattlings of childhood in the distance; the chirping 

of a solitary bird aside of me, and finally the deep 

peals of the Vesper-bells — these furnished a feast upon 

which the spirit regaled with mute delight. It was 

a happy day, which a bountiful Providence filled with 

more than a common share of joys. How gratefully 

we sat down to our repast that evening in the town 

of Albano. It was already going towards a late hour 

as we sat together in mute reflection. At length I 

broke the silence, after thinking of another pleasant 

country toward the setting sun. 



406 TALK BEFORE AN ALBANIAN HEARTH. 

" Tell me, Roland, the cause of thine unusual silence." 

" Something not very relevant to the pleasant busi- 
ness of this memorable day," he replied. "As I sat 
here, thoughts of home came over me, and thou knowest 
we cannot well forget that either." 

"That is just what I have caught myself at. Per- 
haps this cheerful, crackling fire on the hearth is some- 
what to blame for it." 

"Well, if it is, I feel grateful to it for awakening 
such pleasant images and memories." 

"But I have told thee so much of my short, prosy 
history, tell me something of thine." 

"Mine," said my Polish friend, "is barren in interest 
and results, with many vexations and little success. 
It is soon told. My ancestors emigrated to Poland 
from Germany. They shared in its darkest trials and 
misfortunes, which my parents yet tasted in a more 
than ordinary degree. They intended to educate me 
for a jurist, a profession of which from my early youth 
I was passionately fond. After I had gained a number 
of the first honors, I graduated in the Gymnasium. 
But as only the nobility have access to the Universities 
in Russia, I could not complete my studies. For 
two years I sought admission, bat in vain. At 
length I was forced into the mercantile business, for 
which I have neither taste nor talent. Whilst thou 
art contentedly laboring in a sphere for which nature 
and grace have designed thee, I am in one for 
which I have neither. Part of my young life 
has already been turned into a winter of discontent. 
But now my only plan will be to make the best of 
my unwilling calling. Ah, my friend, thou dwellest 



A WALK ALONG THE VIA APPIA. 407 

in a happy country. Mine is now passing through 
the last ordeal of extinction. Formerly, we had two 
flourishing Universities in Poland. But these were 
taken from us; and now it has come so far, that only 
the sons of the nobility can attend the Gymnasia. 
Those who will complete their studies, must visit the 
Russian Universities, perhaps a thousand miles off. 
All this is to strip us of the last vestiges of Polish 
nationality, and infuse into us the torpid spirit of 
serfdom. But the Czar will find it a labor as ignoble 
as it is laborious to make us Russians. If Russia 
devours Poland, she will find her a very indigestible 
dish for her present stomach, which may cause her 
many a pang. But I pray thee, tell not my complaints 
to thy Russian friends at Rome, lest the spies will 
beset my path and aggravate my present privations." 
This closed our first day upon the Alban hills. The 
following day we made several excursions to the ancient 
Arriecia, still more picturesque than Albano, and 
then returned home. 

A few days later, we took a stroll along the Via 
Appia, the " Regina Viarum" of the old Romans. For 
eight miles the road is but a path through an ancient 
burying-ground. Along both sides are the nameless, 
untenanted tombs of those, whose very dust has been 
blown out of their neglected vaults. In the places where 
the proud patrician was laid, amid "the boast of 
heraldry and the pomp of war," the wandering beggar 
now finds a grateful shelter from the sudden shower. 
Among the few that have been tolerably preserved, 
is the grave of Seneca. His humble tomb, like his 
" Morals," has survived the proud epitaphs and perish- 



408 AN ENGLISH FOX CHASE. 

able monuments of ignoble fame. The largest pre- 
served monument is that of Csecilia Metella, on which 
the tooth of Time has gnawed for more than nine- 
teen centuries. But it speaks neither of hope, nor 
abiding good to the living: 

" Thus much we know — Metella died, 
The wealthiest Roman's wife ; behold his love or pride." 

While musing along the streets of the dead, we 
were overtaken by an English sporting party. They 
were out on a fox chase. A line of carriages, more 
than a mile long, crowded around the starting point. 
For a short time coaches followed in the rear, but 
soon those on horseback left them so far behind, that 
they had to be content as spectators. Ladies, like 
modern Amazons, vied with the lords of creation in 
the eager sport. It is remarkable how the excitement 
of the chase blinds them to all danger. One coach 
rolled over with a crashing noise, unheeded, save by 
a few loafers. One was pitched from his horse a 
number of times in the most frightful manner. At 
length the animal ran away with him, minus his coat 
and hat, and laid him very roughly aside of a ruined 
wall. I thought he had fallen to rise no more, until 
he rose to limp after his steed again. The whole 
scene of mingled levity and dash for pleasure was 
in strange contrast with these deserted abodes of the 
dead. On our return we struck across the fields, as 
we would say in America, past the grove of Egerie, 
and examined many scattered ruins. 

Our third excursion was to the Sabine hills, and 
Tivoli, the Tibur of the ancients. The dells and 
ascending terraces around the city are filled with 



THE TOWN OF TIVOLI. 409 

ancient olive groves, as in the days of Horace, from 
which its inhabitants principally live. The Anio, a 
mountain river, diverges into a number of branches, 
which plunge over precipices more than a hundred 
feet high. Several rush through under the city, and boil 
over the rugged crags amid clouds of spray. Far 
down in a foggy gorge one tumbles wildly out of a 
cave, over large petrified trees and cane. In the 
evening we watched the bleak plain as the twilight 
settled on it. One object after another disappeared, 
until nothing remained but the dome of St. Peter's, 
perched on the distant horizon. When the moon 
arose, we wandered about among the cascades and 
watched their wild dashings through the winding 
clefts of their half-visible beds. On our return the 
streets were all deserted. Entering a cafe — an impor- 
tant institution for news, nourishment and social inter- 
course among the modern Italians — we sought relief 
from the dismal loneliness of the dark streets. And 
even here we found ourselves alone. We asked the 
attendant, " Where are all your towns-people ?" " Ah !" 
he said, "the olive hath borne no fruit, and so the 
Tiburnians must go early to bed." 

The next morning we clambered down into the gorges 
and the caverns, and visited several classical villas. The 
most interesting was the villa of Hadrian, which looks 
like a small city of palaces in ruins. After leaving this, 
we were overtaken by one of those sudden showers, for 
which the Italian sky is famous. We sought shelter 
in a wayside shrine, where many a pilgrim has per- 
formed his devotions. Here, while the chilling rain blew 
around us, we made a meagre dinner on a few 



410 A VENERABLE TIBURMAN. 

pieces of bread. How keenly we relished our simple 
fare, more than could the glutted epicure his choicest 
dishes. We had an aged guide, whose tough agility 
beshamed our cumbrous gait. Many a curious tourist 
has he schooled in the history and legendary lore of 
his native Sabine. "I have traversed these hills 
from a child," he said. "Two royal travelers, the 
princes of Saxony and Bavaria, have followed in my 
wake. I have fought under Napoleon I. Napoleon 
the first" he repeated. " This one at Paris is a Little 
Napoleon (Picholl Napolemichino.) I have seen much 
in Italy and out of it, but here in my native Tibur 
will I spend the evening of my days. Is not this a 
most pretty place to fall asleep in ? See how yonder 
olives of former ages still thrive. Seest thou the 
fine herds on yonder hillside? And then look at 
those waterfalls! Thou shoulds't see them when the 
mountains and trees are green, when lowing herds, sing- 
ing birds, and playing, prattling children mingle their 
sounds with their rough roar. Then I think of my 
boyhood's days. But now I am fast growing old. My 
hair is white. I can no longer bound over these 
hills as at first. Yes, I will soon sleep with my fathers. 
But they will lay me on yonder hill, near those 
fountains, groves and rills. The cascades shall still 
rush and roar on after I am gone." Yes, methought, 
for his colloquy roused me to earnest reflection, if 
thou art a child of God, they will long roar their 
unheeded requiem over thy remains while thou art in 
"a better country." 

I thought I had seen and felt much of Rome, 
but when rambling among its ruins during moonlight, 



THE COLISEUM. 411 

I felt new thrills of power and beauty, which far 
surpassed the rest. And how brightly the moon shines 
here! It could not be more so without becoming 
daylight. To stand by these fountains, sparkling in 
moonlight like sheets of liquid light, guarded by busts 
and hoary statues of speaking marble — to stand in 
temples, where the blind zeal of a false religion tried 
to secure the favor of heaven, by pouring human 
blood upon their altars — to peer into their dark vaults 
by the aid of a few rays that penetrate their crevices, 
are things to be remembered. What a pile of unforget- 
ful power is the Pantheon in moonlight! And the 
Forum, with its few surviving columns, like pillars 
of smoke in the perishing waste of the past! In the 
Coliseum, too, I have stood and looked at the moon 
and the stars, and thought how they shone upon its 
glory and cruel shame. I looked through the tufts 
of waving grass on the border of its lofty walls, and 
through its arches, to the moon and the stars. An awful 
stillness hovered around it like the hush of a church- 
yard at midnight. Not a sound was heard, save the 
slow tread of the guard, and the distant barking of a 
dog. Yes, the spectral sound of the owl I heard 
across the way in the palaces of the Csesars. The last time 
I was there, I ascended to the top with the aid of a 
glaring pine torch. I looked down into the vast arena, 
and out upon the arches of Titus and Constantine, 
while the ghostly bird of Night was perched on a 
topmost stone above me, from which it piped its 
dismal dirge over this grave of Rome. I listened to 
the stillness of a sleeping world till near midnight, 
and then would fain have tarried longer. How vivid- 
ly I felt the force of Childe Harold's description: 



412 ON THE DOME OF ST. PETER'S. 

" The trees which grew along the broken arches 
Waved, darking the blue midnight, and the stars 
Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar 
The watch-dog bay'd beyond the Tiber; and 
More near from the Osesars' palace came 
The owls' long cry, and interruptedly 
Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
Begun and died upon the gentle sound. 
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood 
Within a bow-shot where the Caesars dwelt, 
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 
A grove which springs through level' d battlements 
And twine its roots with the imperial hearths." 

On a certain day a few of us ascended the dome of 
St. Peter's. When we reached the roof we joined 
nine young priests in the ascent. After stepping 
around a rope until my head began to reel, and creep- 
ing through narrow stairways, walking around the 
vast, open gallery, looking down several hundred feet 
into the church, we reached the last station. The rest 
of the way was made up a small iron ladder through a 
vertical pipe. The priests laid aside their robes and 
their all-brimmed hats. Several, of more portly dimen- 
sions than the rest, well nigh bunged the opening 
for us, to the great diversion of their brethren. Though 
more slender, I found considerable labor to twist and 
struggle through this serial orifice, which caused no 
little merriment to my friends at the top of the ladder. 
Arrived at the summit, we crouched down in the great 
ball on the lofty dome of St. Peter's, four hundred 
feet above the pavement, a very odd group, I must 
own. I could not help but think of Saul among 
the prophets. 

Few places in Rome aiford one so much rational 



THE VATICAN. 413 

and instructive enjoyment as the Vatican. The term 
Vatican has acquired a technical meaning. It is 
applied to a collection of buildings, aside of St. Peter's 
grand Cathedral. These buildings cover a space of 
1200 feet in length, and 1000 feet in breadth. Here, 
on the spot once occupied by the gardens of Nero, 
the Bishop of Rome in the early part of the sixth 
century built an humble residence. In 1160, Pope 
Eugenius rebuilt it on a grander scale. A few years 
later, Innocent II. gave it as a dwelling to Peter 
II, King of Aragon. In 1305 Clement V., at the 
instigation of the King of France, removed the Papal 
See from Rome to Avignon. For more than seventy 
years the Vatican remained in a condition of obscurity 
and neglect. In 1376 the Papal Court returned to 
Rome. Soon after the Vatican was repaired and 
enlarged. For more than one thousand years the 
Popes had made the Lateran palace their official 
residence. In 1377 Gregory XL adopted it as the 
Pontifical residence, which it has continued to be 
down to the present. Different Popes added new 
buildings to the original palace. For centuries they 
have gathered into its numerous galleries antiquarian 
and art treasures, until it has become the richest deposi- 
tory in the world. 

The Vatican Library was commenced fourteen 
hundred years ago. It contains 40,000 ancient manu- 
scripts. Among these are some by Pliny, St. Thomas, 
St. Charles Borromeo, besides those of many other 
ancient worthies. Here are many Hebrew, Syrian, 
Greek, Arabian and Armenian Bibles, found nowhere 
else. It has carefully treasured up more than 70,000 






414 EPITAPHS OP THE EARLY CHRISTIANS. 

statues, exhumed from the ruined palaces and temples 
of Rome. 

It has a gallery of Inscriptions, two hundred and 
thirty yards long, containing more than 3000 speci- 
mens, taken from the sepulchres of the ancients. It 
is the finest collection known. Many of these are 
tablets found in the catacombs of Rome. Upon them 
are inscribed the faith and hope of the early Christian 
martyrs, who lived and died in these dark caverns 
from love to Christ. Very significant are these epi- 
taphs, found preserved in the Vatican and elsewhere. 
They are short, simple and to the point, such as the 
following : 

*' In Christ, Marty ri us lived ninety-one years, 
He chose this spot during his life. In peace." 

" Victorina in peace and in Christ." 

" Primitian in peace; a most valiant martyr, after many 
torments. Aged 38. His wife raised this to her dearest, well- 
deserving husband." 

"In Christ. In the time of the Emperor Adrian, Marius, a 
young military officer, who had lived long enough, when, 
with his blood he gave up his life for Christ. At length he 
rested in peace. The well-deserving set up this with tears and 
in fear, on the 6th Ides of December." 

" Here lies Gordianus, deputy of Gaul, who was murdered 
with all his family, for the faith; they rest in peace. Theophila, 
his hand-maid, setup this." 

" Sacred to Christ, the Supreme God. Vitalis, buried on 
Saturday, Kalends of August. She lived twenty-five years 
and three months. She lived with her husband, ten years and 
thirty days. In Christ the first and the last." 

Many tablets contain the inscription : 

" He (or she) sleeps in the peace of the Lord." 

These epitaphs were mostly carved by the unskilled, 
sorrowing relatives of the departed. Long and hard 
must they have wrought at the few words, with the 



EPITAPHS OF THE ANCIENT ROMANS. 415 

aid of a sharpened piece of iron and a flickering 
torch. For in their dark and dreary abodes there 
were no stone-cutters to do the work for them. Some 
of these poor mourners were evidently unlettered, for 
the spelling of the names is often wrong, and the 
letters are bunglingly carved. With strange emotions 
one reads the imperfect record, which the sorrowing 
love and piety of seventeen hundred years ago graved 
on these stones. Their faith in Christ and in a happy 
hereafter is humble, trustful and real as that of a little 
child. 

The inscriptions on pagan tombs clearly show that 
they were without God, and without hope beyond the 
present life. How dark and dreary must have been 
the grave to such. Take the following as a few 
samples : 

" O, relentless Fortune, who delightest in cruel death, 
Why is Maximus so early snatched from me?" 
" To the Divine Manes of Titus Claudius Secundus, who 
lived 57 years. Here he enjoys everything. Baths, wine and 
love, ruin our constitutions, — but they make life what it is. 
Farewell, farewell." 

" While I lived. I lived well. My play is now ended, soon 
yours will be. Farewell, and applaud me." 

In Rome we must talk of Rome. To see the ruins 
on the ground associated with their history makes an 
impression very different from reading their description. 
I had seen miniature copies of them in London and 
Berlin, but when I approached them on the spot, and 
recalled the record of their past, and their classic 
drapery, less frail than they, I saw in their arches, 
pillars, and inscriptions still "thoughts that breathe 
and words that burn." It is the Mystic stamp of 



416 THE RUINS OF ROME. 

ancient Mind, that makes them tower above the puny 
creatures of to-day, like the mighty time-worn giants 
of twenty centuries, which enables the mute marble 
still to awe the pilgrims from every clime. With what 
a singular sensation I for the first time approached two 
colossal statues of Phidias and Praxitiles, and then 
when, for the first time, I looked down over the Forum 
from the Capitoline hill, 

" Where a thousand years of silenced factions sleep," 

where a few dark columns and triumphal arches frown 
down upon the dust of a buried Empire, ah, I felt 
as if 1 cared nothing for aught else that Rome con- 
tained ; the Arch of Titus, erected in honor to him 
as a memorial of his destruction of Jerusalem, alike a 
record of history, and a monument of fulfilled pro- 
phecy; the Coliseum, "a noble wreck in ruinous per- 
fection," once the scene of gladiatorial games, which 
could seat ninety thousand people. For two hundred 
years the Roman princes used its material for building 
their palaces, but its firm, lofty piles have defied 
the attacks of rapacious plunderers. Still it remains 
the grandest edifice of old Rome. Joining the Forum 
are the palaces of the Caesars, whose andistinguishable 
ruins are partly covered with vegetable gardens. Here 
the present actually feeds on the past, in cabbage 
as well as arts. After all, it is ancient and not 
modern Rome, that attracts the student of the past 
from every country. Here 

" Rude heaps, that had been cities, clad the ground 
With history." 

This Forum, once the theatre of proud assemblies, 



OLD ROME. 417 

and resounding with Ciceronian eloquence, and these pala- 
ces of the Caeiars once filled with the voice of mirthful 
laughter, inhabited by minds, mean or mighty, is 
now a dreary waste of ruins. These have a history, 
and history never dies. What eventful dramas have 
here transpired ! These massive acqueducts and time- 
defying monuments of Art, how they proclaim the 
majesty of the old Roman character ! I love to linger 
beneath their arches and around their base. They tell 
a tale of other days, and though mingled with blood, 
it still charms. How it soothes the spirit to turn away 
from the unrest of the present to this Mausoleum of 
the past. For it is not all dead. 

"Cede immer dem Blick, am bevoelkertsten aber dem G-eiste 
Bist du stilles Gefuehl, derm die Vergangenheit lebt." 

Modern Rome, with all her unrivalled qualities, 
dwindles into puny insignificance aside of the old city 
outside of the walls. Here one fancies to see again 
the simple, modest worth of Cincinnatus, or be ter- 
rified by the colossal cruelty of Nero. Massive arches 
call up the glittering triumphal processions of Titus 
and Constantine. Here, indeed, the past becomes more 
an object of feeling than reflection. Often I find a sweet 
solace here which I seek in vain in her best galleries 
of Art. And I eagerly catch every leisure moment 
to spend in Old Rome. 

" Flieh aus den Mauern von Rom, um Rom, das Alte zu 

fuehlen, 
Flieh in die Einsamkeit wo es sich lebet dem Geist." 

How vastly different the half-deserted Forum of to-day 
from that of ancient Rome! The site on which the 
27 



418 THE PANTHEON. 

expectant multitude once thronged and throbbed, car- 
ters now occupy to feed their oxen, and plebian women 
to dry their wash. Under the few remaining arches 
of the basilica of Constantine a daily crowd of greasy 
loafers assembles, a ludicrous contrast to their remote 
sires. In the Coliseum, where once ill-fated captives 
were pushed into unwilling combat to slay their fellows 
"to make a Roman holiday," where St. Ignatius 
was devoured by wild beasts, and numerous martyrs 
sealed their confession with their blood, a number of 
shrines now grace the interior, and a small pulpit, from 
which a cappuchin monk preaches every Friday. 

Some of the ancient temples have been converted 
and consecrated into Christian churches. One of the 
finest churches in Rome has been formed out of a small 
part of the baths of Diocletian. The Pantheon, once 
the home of all the gods, still shows a remarkable dura- 
bility of workmanship. Shortly before the Christian 
Era, the Romans here offered a sacred residence to 
the gods of all nations, even to the Jewish Lawgiver, 
and some say to Jesus. The niches which then con- 
tained their statues are all vacant, except a few. The 
interior looks bare and desolate, and its services are 
sparingly attended, for it is used as a church. 

Turn we to the modern city, the Rome of Gregory 
the Great, and we find what many others have in 
common with it. Numerous princely palaces, founded 
by glutted opulence, crooked enigmatical streets, that 
lead you into "wandering mazes lost." One evening I 
started from the Tiber and walked nearly two hours 
in an opposite direction, as I thought. I tried my 
utmost to get away from it, but when I fondly expected 



MODERN ROME. 419 

to be near my lodgings, I suddenly turned up on its 
banks again. 

To the honor of its founder I will mention the 
Corso, a street tolerably straight, traversing the city 
through the middle, but reaching only to one end. It 
boasts of pavements, varying from one to three feet 
in width, which no other street possesses. This is the 
grand thoroughfare of the modern Romans. On Sunday 
afternoon it is crowded with a stream of carriages and 
pedestrians from one end to the other. This is their 
usual promenading day. At the end of the city is a 
beautiful garden on the summit of Monte Pincio, and 
beyond the walls the large villa of Borghese, whither 
great multitudes resort. And a delightful promenade the 
latter affords. Ruins, fountains, elm and pine trees are 
arranged and grow in a pleasing irregularity. Festivals 
are more strictly observed here than Sunday. They 
usually commences rather quietly. Stores and shops 
are closed. But the numerous returning carriages and 
crowded promenades fill the streets with confusion 
towards evening. 

The general aspect of humanity in modern Rome is 
a mixture of majesty and meanness, where the fine 
arts and the mean arts contest the supremacy. The 
large number of visitors from all parts of the world, 
especially during the winter and spring, who come 
here to improve their health, or lose it by indulgence, 
fills Rome with a species of luxury not far behind 
that which led to the dissolution of the Empire. The 
Artists especially, of whom there are said to be eight 
thousand employed here, care little about anything 
but their studios. A large class of plebian Romans 



420 PAUPERISM IN ROME. 

excel in feats of villainy. In lying, extortion and 
deception, for the sake of human nature I hope they 
have not their equals. They are found all over 
Italy. Unless you make a fixed bargain, Cicerones 
will demand three times the usual fee. Others are 
content with a smaller one, only so they get it without 
work. Squads of large, lazy, half-naked beings, 
who rather than move a muscle to labor, roast whole 
days in the sun, and watch for a chance to beg or 
cheat a morsel out of some one, are found in the squares 
and on street corners. 

Rome, with a population of one hundred and sev- 
enty-five thousand, has fifty thousand beggars, who 
live on alms. In spite of the numerous institutions 
of charity, the streets and church-doors are everywhere 
besieged by them. They will run and cry after you 
on the street, and run over half the calender of 
saints, to invoke a blessing for a pittance. Some look^ 
disgustingly miserable. Persons with withered limbs, 
laid bare to excite pity, cripples of every sort. 
Strong, healthy persons lead about the blind to specu- 
late on their misery. Children whine and play the 
limping crimple to get a copper. That cities and 
villages during seven days of the week abound with 
children, unkempt and unshorn, with scarce enough 
to cover their nakedness, is only what we meet in 
London and New York. But the multitude of a torpid 
do-nothing population, which lounge and recline on 
the sunny side of the Seven Hills, is a distinction 
which few cities or countries share. And this, too, 
in a country distinguished for the salubrity of its 
climate, and the fertility of its soil. No Scottish 



THE BEGGARS OF ROME. 421 

heaths of Polar wastes mock their famishing wants. 

" Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest. 
Whatever fruits in different climes are found. 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground — 
These here disporting own the kindred soil, 
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil." 

The Campagna, the large rolling plain around 
Rome, covered with a rough surface, the result of 
volcanic action, once teemed with an almost perennial 
fertility, but is now little better than a neglected com- 
mon. Large tracts are portioned off for pasturage, 
which look as if no farrow had been drawn through 
them since the days of Cincinnatus. Here and there a 
herdsman leads his flock to crop off what little is left 
on the abandoned soil. With little labor it might be 
covered with waving harvests, which would give work, 
bread and a decent manliness to the poor. After going 
out to the Campagna several times through streets, 
where numerous alms-boxes were rattled after me ; 
where filthy mothers held their still more filthy babes 
at me; where the sounds of wailing want fell dolefully 
on my ears, sometimes starting me with an unex- 
pected "Signor, ho, Signor," at my heels, and then 
entering upon these vast uncultivated fields, which, by 
a trifling attention, would fill pantries with plenty, 
my respect for the "paternal" government of modern 
Rome was greatly diminished. Other causes doubtless 
contribute measurably to these results. The southern 
climate is said to exert an enervating influence. The 
malaria, during the summer months, engenders disease 
and deformity. But the absence of incentives to indns- 






422 THE POLICE AND BANDITTI. 

try and thrift begets a disposition that would rather 
beo- than labor, at all hazards. Some receive their 
alms with cold ingratitude, saying that their bene- 
factors give to buy their souls from perdition. But 
it would be unjust to judge of a nation's morality by 
its valets and beggars. The Italians are not all grov- 
elling in meanness. The more educated classes are 
generous, and evince a tender sympathy for the suffer- 
ino-. They show a fine sesthetical taste in the common- 
est walks of life. Almost every department of business 
is ornamented with works of art, down to the cheese- 
monger and butcher-shop. They are merciful to a 
fault, which they show towards robbers. No civilized 
country is more infested by desperadoes than the Papal 
States. They carry on their daring feats around the 
walls of Rome without perceptible molestation. Pos- 
tillions and the police are often parties in the crime. 
Some years ago the noted chief of a clan was executed, 
who confessed that he paid the police a hundred dollars 
a month to keep them informed of the contents of the 
mail. 

Rome is renowned for her public and private 
charities. These have unwittingly become a source of 
evil. They have to a great extent served as a prize 
to poverty and indolence. Large numbers of her 
paupers are foreigners, persons who came to Rome to 
follow the business of begging, and are prepared to 
serve mischief in any form to get bread. They are 
not a growth of modern times. Rome has been fertile 
in idlers and loafers, since the days of Juvenal. But 
we naturally look for progress since then, which, in 
this particular, is hard to be discovered. Unless a 



THE MYTHOLOGY OF ROMANISM. 423 

man has very strong papal proclivities, his respect 
for Romanism will not increase much by visiting the 
so-called Holy City. Her treasuries of Art elevate 
and refine. Her gaudy vestments and pompous pro- 
cessions excite much wonder, but are a poor stimulant 
to true, simple devotion. 

There is a tremendous power in Roman Catholic 
Art, to which the numerous Protestants who crowd its 
galleries bear their unwilling testimony. The Church 
has the material for it : saints, madonnas and poetic 
fables. If Art were Christianity, or if its works were 
means of grace and salvation, she would be entitled 
to her most extravagant claims without any further 
controversy. But the sin-conscious, gilt-burdened soul 
finds a poor solace in splendid ceremonials and the 
creations of Raphael and Michael Angelo. Earnest the 
worshipers generally seem to be. They look like 
those who have a serious work to perform, and they go 
about it with corresponding gravity. That they wish 
to get rid of their sins, and gain the favor of God, 
would be blindness to deny. But we must be equally 
blind, if we cannot see in this fancied metropolis of 
holiness the prevalence of sundry substitutions, which 
Butler calls "the Mythology of Romanism." How 
eagerly and hopefully these poor people kiss and caress 
their paintings and statues. And where their lips 
cannot reach them, they will touch them with the 
hand, and kiss that. I have seen a cross in this city 
with an inscription, promising absolution for two hun- 
dred days to all who will kiss it. 

A few hours ago I met a Bohemian female, who 
is on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. " I will walk all 



424 AN EARNEST PILGRIM. 

the way," she said to me, " save a short distance by sea. 
I will go alone, I must go alone. I have no money, 
but I fear nothing. The Lord has been with me thus 
far, and he will go with me to the end." Here is a 
poor, unprotected woman, without purse or scrip, fear- 
less of Greek robbers and plundering Bedouins, ignorant 
of the necessary languages, but not of the ferocity of 
oriental tribes, making a journey from which the stout- 
est heart might shrink, to redeem a vow, or get released 
from a long accumulation of sins. I will not discuss 
the theology of this incident. It is of a piece with 
the papal method of expiation. I do not wish to 
pander to the tastes of those who can relish no spiritual 
food but the execration and hatred of anti-papal froth. 
But hitherto I have failed to find in Romanism the 
Church of Moehler and bishop England. 

Everywhere I find a striking discrepancy between 
the Theology and Religion of the Papacy. The moral 
turpitude of the Priesthood is acknowledged here even 
by faithful Catholics. It would be well if churches 
could sometimes " see themselves as others see them," 
not even excepting the Romish Church. While she 
professes to be above and beyond Protestant criticism, 
Protestants have at least a right to "know the tree 
by its fruits." Making due allowance for the exag- 
gerated stories and lewd lying speculations of the 
unscrupulous renegades, which she has vomited upon 
us, there is enough corrupt fruit to convince every one, 
who hath a "single eye," that the tree is corrupt. 

A short time ago, on the 20th of December, the 
column and statue erected in honor of the Immaculate 
Conception, was to be uncovered and consecrated. A 



THE POPE AND HIS PRISONERS. 425 

large multitude had assembled around it, but the Pope 
did not make his appearance. Rumor ascribed his 
absence to political reasons. He is perfectly safe among 
his people, but his prime minister, who usually attends 
him on such occasions, is an object of hatred, especially 
to the rabble. To save him from their cruelty, is said 
to have kept both away. I cannot vouch for the 
truth of the report. The following day the Pope 
performed the ceremonies privately, without the knowl- 
edge of the people. Suddenly a coach stopped at the 
base, when the "Holy Father" alighted to despatch 
his work. On the top of the lofty scaffolding, one 
hundred convicts were toiling to expiate their crimes. 
When they saw him approaching, they besieged him 
with pitiful appeals. One shouted : " Holy Father, I 
have been condemned to spend ten years in the galleys 
for a trifling offence." Another cried : " Holy Father, 
fifteen years must I remain in the galleys, when I 
have really done nothing wrong." And so they went 
on, until finally there was but one confused cry of 
"pardon, pardon." But what could he do? He 
pressed by them as if to say, " begone, this is not my 
present business." 

Few ancient remains possess greater interest than 
the catacombs of Rome. They are supposed to have 
originated from excavations made to procure lava, and 
travertine rock for building purposes. Their narrow, 
reticulated streets ramify into endless meshes and 
unsearchable ways, so entirely past finding out, that a 
person once lost would stand a poor chance of ever 
finding his way back without a guide. They served 
successively as the hiding place of thieves and robbers, 



426 A VISIT TO THE CATACOMBS. 

and for the abode and worship of the early Christians 
Along the various underground streets are tiers or 
shelves where the dead were deposited. Occasionally 
the passages widen into small chambers, where they 
held their forbidden services. They extend for many 
miles around and under Rome. Large portions of 
them still remain unexplored. 

Let us visit the Catacombs. It is on the morning 
of the 4th of January, as two of us pass out through 
the gate of San Sebastiano. The unplowed Campagna 
is covered with a white frost, such as we often have 
on an American November morning. The sun is 
already fast dissolving it. Towards sunrise the reflec- 
tion of the bright light on the icy earth covers it 
with a sheen of glory. 

We are strolling over the Appian way — an old 
Roman road, built three hundred and twelve years 
before the birth of Christ. It connected Rome with 
the south-eastern coast of Italy — a distance of four 
hundred miles. Over this old road, paved with six- 
sided stones, laid in cement, over two thousand years 
ago, we leisurely tread. 

A short distance outside of the gate the temple 
of Mars used to stand. There the armies of Rome, 
returning from a victory, and about entering the city 
in triumph, used to halt and offer sacrifices to the 
god of War. Scarcely a mile from the city we reach 
a smill stone church by the wayside. We enter. It 
has an altar, but no pews or seats of any kind. 
Tradition says that when Peter was persecuted and 
threatened with death at Rome, he fled. On the spot 
where this church stands, he, in his flight, met our 



AN ANCIENT CEMETERY. 427 

Saviour going towards Rome. The apostle asks him : 
"Lord, whither goest thou?" (Domine quo vadis?) 
Our Saviour replies: "I am going to Rome to be 
crucified again." Whereupon Peter, with penitent 
sorrow and shame, returns to Rome, to suffer martydom. 
Poor Peter! It was not the first time he yielded to 
cowardice. 

For miles out from Rome the Appian Way leads 
through a Cemetery. On both sides it is lined with 
costly monuments, some exceeding in size the temples 
of early Rome. There sleep many of the senators, 
tribunes, orators, and poets of the ancient capital. 
Underneath these sepulchres there exists a world of 
the departed. 

There are but few places of entrance to this lower 
region of the dead. One of these is through the 
church of San Sebastian, on the Appian Way, two 
miles from Rome. Softiy we open the church-do or 
and enter. A friar greets ns. He wears a coarse 
brown casso-ik or cloak, and a cord tied around his 
waist. His head is shaven, save a circle of hair above 
his ears. He never wears hat or cap, only the cowl 
attached to his cloak. With sullen mien, and a face 
that looked as if it rarely smiled, he greeted us in 
Italian. He seemed to take it for granted that we 
wished to visit this underground city — the Catacombs 
of Rome. After handing us each a lighted taper, he 
bade us follow him. Descending a stairway, we soon 
reached the gate-way to the land of the dead. Through 
narrow alleys, like the channels of coal mines, we 
cautiously and slowly proceeded. A few bumps on 
the ceiling soon reminded me, that the ancients had 



428 THE OEIGIN OF THE CATACOMBS. 

either lower hats or shorter bodies than some of us 
moderns. And when I remembered that this place 
had been consecrated by the devotions of centuries, I 
humbled both. We stooped and strolled hither and 
thither. Every few steps the passage would divide into 
a bewildering net-work of tunnels, in which absolute 
darkness reigned. We soon had as little idea of the 
place where we entered, as if we had never been oatside 
of this dismal region. More streets are down here, 
and if possible, more tortuous ones than in Rome itself. 
But how came they here? 

In the early ages of the Roman Empire quarries 
were here opened, wherefrom to get building-stones for 
the city. For centuries they were worked. The 
volcanic sandy rock was taken out like coal from its 
beds, until the earth was perforated in all directions 
by a vast net-work of tunnels. It is said that they 
extend over a distance of twenty miles in one direction, 
and twelve miles in another, from Rome. They are 
often referred to by heathen writers as places of refuge. 
When Nero's life was in danger, he was advised to 
conceal himself in the Catacombs. He replied that 
"he would not go under the ground while living." 

These quarrymen usually were persons of the lowest 
grade. Like miners of the present day, they were cut 
off and deprived of many privileges of education and 
refinement. Some never saw the cheering light of the 
sun for months. Multitudes of Christians, captives 
and prisoners, were compelled to work in these mines, 
carrying the stones on their shoulders. Hither many 
of the first pastors of the Church came to preach to 
their suffering brethren, These oppressed and despisecj 



THE REFUGE OF MARTYRS. 429 

underground toilers were among the most attentive 
hearers of the apostles and pastors of the early Church. 
To them life was an unceasing burden. A religion that 
promised comfort for this world, and for the world 
to come, was accepted with grateful delight. Many of 
the first converts to Christianity at Rome must have 
belonged to these miners. 

But the Church of Christ soon aroused the perse- 
cution of the Roman Empire. Rome seemed to be the 
centre of the atrocious cruelties inflicted upon the early 
Christians. Many, like Peter, were crucified; like 
Ignatius, were thrown before devouring wild beasts 
in the Coliseum. The followers of Christ had to seal 
their faith by their blood. Whither should they flee 
for safety? With the converted quarrymen for their 
guides, who were the only persons that were familiar 
with the numerous windings of the Catacombs, the 
persecuted believers sought refuge under ground. Whole 
families took up their abode here. Thousands gathered 
in these dark tunnels. Their less suspected brethren, 
and unconverted relatives, sometimes supplied them 
with bread. Besides the places of regular entrance, 
there were many holes in the fields through which 
they could have intercourse with their friends above 
ground. Sometimes the quarry coming too near the 
surface, the earth would cave in, and make an air-hole, 
to aid ventilation. 

Some of the more prominent Christians suffered 
martyrdom in the Catacombs. Xystus, bishop of 
Rome, with one of his clergy, was killed here. And 
Stephen, another bishop, was traced hither by the 
Roman soldiers. They found him engaged in a religious 



430 THE SAINTS IN THE CATACOMBS. 

service in a small chapel, which they allowed him to 
conclude, and then cut off his head. This bishop used 
to send forth the priest Eusebius and the deacon 
Marcellus to invite the Christians to come down to 
his place of concealment for counsel and comfort. 
Among his followers was Hippolytus, whose pagan 
sister Paulina and her husband secretly supplied him 
with food. TsvO' of their children, a boy of ten, and a 
girl of thirteen, were in the habit, at stated times, of 
carrying a basket of provision to their uncle. Hippo- 
lytus grieved over the hopeless state of his kind sister. 
He asked the venerable bishop what to do for her. 
"Keep the children here the next time they come. 
Their parents will surely follow in search of them." 
He did so. The anxious parents soon came after their 
children. The good old man plead with them to 
become Christians, and gave them his blessing. E'er 
long they returned. And after a course of instruction 
by the bishop, they and their children were baptized. 
At last this whole family, with the uncle and the 
bishop, poured out their blood for Christ, and were 
crowned with martyrdom. 

The Catacombs were used for places of refuge and 
of burial. For three hundred years the entire Christian 
population of Rome laid their dead in these vaults. 
Besides the vast multitude of people from the humbler 
walks of life, not a few of the great and powerful 
rulers were laid to rest here. The burial of the martyrs 
and sainted dead of the first ages of the Church 
imparted to this underground city a certain kind of 
sacredness. For one's dust to repose among their 
sacred remains was by many considered a great privi- 



ST. JEROME IN THE CATACOMBS. 431 

lege. Five popes — Leo I., Gregory the Great, the 
second and third Gregory, and Leo IX., sleep their 
last sleep here. The Emperors Honorias and Valen- 
tin ian, besides a number of minor kings and queens, 
were borne hither. 

When the Emperor Diocletian tried his utmost to 
extirpate Christianity by slaughtering the Christians, 
he forbade them to meet and worship in the Catacombs. 
In the middle of the fourth century St. Jerome says : 
"When I was at Rome, still a youth, and employed 
in literary pursuits, I was accustomed, in company 
with others of my own age, and actuated by the same 
feelings, to visit on Sundays the sepulchres of the 
apostles and martyrs, and often go down into the crypts 
dug in the heart of the earth, where the walls on either 
side are lined with the dead; and so intense is the 
darkness, that we almost realize the words of the 
prophet, 'They go down alive into Hades.' Here and 
there a scanty aperture, ill deserving the name of a 
window, admits scarcely light enough to mitigate the 
gloom which reigns below, and as we advance through 
the shades with cautious steps, we are forcibly reminded 
of the words of Virgil : 'Horror ubique animos, simul 
ipsa, silentia terrent, (Horror on all sides, even the 
silence terrifies the mind).' " 

When the Huns and Goths deluged the Roman 
Empire, they depopulated and desecrated the Catacombs. 
Their inhabitants were driven out, burials therein 
ceased. They became the hiding place for robbers, bats, 
and beasts of prey. The superstitious minds of the 
simple Roman peasants peopled them with ghosts and 
hobgoblins. On their visits to the market places of 



432 AN UNDERGROUND CITY. 

Rome, they had to pass the entrances of some of these 
Catacombs. Fearful to pass them alone, they would 
usually get a group to walk by the haunted region 
together. As they neared the place, they tremblingly 
muttered a prayer, or sang a psalm, to keep the evil 
spirits off, and hurried past as soon as they could. 
Since then, in times of war and tumult, the Catacombs 
have often become a hiding place and refuge for fugi- 
tives from justice or from cruelty. 

Now let us return to our friar, in cowl and cassock, 
and to our morning's walk. With slow and cautious 
tread we follow our guide, now to the right, then to the 
left, every few steps our path crossing and crossed by 
other paths. Here and there the narrow alley widened 
on both sides into a small, square chamber, hewn out 
by pious hands for a chapel. On one side an altar is 
cut out of the rock. Here with lighted taper stood 
the pastor, sixteen hundred years ago, administering 
comfort and the Communion to those, who prayerfully 
pressed around him through these dark aisles. Coffins, 
like so many troughs or tiers, are cut out of the 
rock, along the sides of the passage — one above the 
other, forming four and five burial shelves, up to the 
ceiling. Some of these little stone boxes were only 
two and three feet long, wherein weeping parents laid 
their fond departed children. In some I discovered 
fragments and particles of their bones. 

Down we went deeper and deeper, through these 
dismal streets of the dead. Here and there I held 
my taper into a coffin-case, reverently to look at the 
little remaining dust. How many an unseen tear has 
dropped on the rock-floor around these stationary 



EARLY CHRISTIANS IN THE CATACOMBS. 433 

coffins! Into these narrow cases pious, persecuted, 
weeping devotion, with gentle hands, laid all that 
was mortal "of those, who, through faith and patience 
had inherited the promises." In these nocturnal streets 
walked and stood many a funeral train, with smoking 
torches, singing their hopeful obsequies in muffled 
praise. And while the living and the dead lurked 
and lived in this night of the grave, they would 
speak of the night of death, "wherein no man can 
work," and trim their lamps anew to prepare for its 
coming. And while they tremblingly lingered in a 
city, into which the sun, moon, and stars never shone, 
they spake to one another of the city, whose sun 
shall never set; "for there shall be no night there, 
and they need no candle, neither light of the sun." 
And then they thought of their brethren in the faith, 
hunted like wild beasts, torn, mangled, and burned 
for the sake of the Crucified, their ashes swept away 
by the Tiber, or blown over the earth by the wind, 
and their bones bleaching on the plains, "uncoffined 
and unsung." For them, too, these hidden congrega- 
tions sang the psalm of victory, and esteemed them 
blessed. As they press through the dark aisles around 
some chapel and pastor, to hear the Gospel read, and 
join in prayer, they hear the quick tread of a messen- 
ger in the distance; — for those who dwell in darkness 
cultivate a keen sense of hearing, and can distinguish 
sounds from afar. The messenger tells the congrega- 
tion in a half-whisper the well-known names of some 
brethren, who have just been torn to pieces by the 
lions in the Coliseum, and of others who are to be 
led thither to-morrow. Then, amid the silence ot the 
28 



434 THE STREETS OF THE CATACOMBS. 

grave, they all kneel down, and laying their heads on 
their hands, folded on the coffins of sleeping saints, 
and pray for their suffering brethren, that their faith 
fail not, and praise God for having given others the 
victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Every day 
the mangled remains of some martyred saints are 
brought down here by stealth, and amid songs of 
triumph laid into their rock-coffins. 

Thus the living and the dead dwell together. But 
now their city is deserted. They have all gone to 
another and a better country. These places shall know 
them no more forever. Eagerly I searched for their 
names. But all their mural tablets and epitaphs have 
been removed to the Vatican in Rome. 

We explored but a short distance, perhaps half 
a mile of the Catacombs. It is not safe to go much 
farther. At some places masses of fallen rock have 
well nigh closed the passage. But what if our lights 
should fail! A slight puff of gas might extinguish 
them. I looked at the ceiling. Masses of soft rock 
are overhead, without prop or pillar. How easy for 
a part of this porous ceiling of stony bubbles to 
settle down into the passage, and block up our return 
forever. Now, to be locked into this dark pit is 
anything but pleasant to think about, But for the 
Hand above me, it would surely fall. It may seem 
a silly notion; but I am a man as other men, given 
to occasional tremors in tremorous places. In a certain 
sense, this would be as good a place to die and be 
buried in, as any I can think of. Whether we fall 
finally asleep on a soft pillow, or in a rocky pit, is 
all the same, only so that the after-sleep be sweet. 



THE CHARMS OF ART. 435 

"No matter how the head lies, so the heart lies right." 
But the walls fell not, and our friar led us safely 
back into the church, and the cheering light of day. 

One cannot stop to describe in detail all the marvels 
of Art in this marvelous city. I have looked at the 
Appollo Belvedere, until his graceful, manly form 
left its lasting image on my mind. I watched Laocoon 
vainly straining his tough life away, to disentangle 
himself and his two boys from the serpent's coil. Poor 
old man, how I have pitied him ! As his father-heart 
clenches the dragon's grasp, to save his children, 

" the enormous asp 
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasj)." 

I wished, and almost hoped, to see him fling the 
deadly thing away, but he grapples still. I have 
mingled my sympathies with the dying gladiator. I 
feel in his hall as in the chamber of a dying man, 
where loud speaking or laughter would seem profane, 
an irreverent indifference. And indeed few speak 
above a whisper, as the watch him sinking over into 
death. Just as Byron has him, 

" I see before me the gladiator lie ; 
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
And through his siue the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
Like the first of a thunder shower, and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone, 
E' re ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch 
who won." 

Rome has a genial winter. Waiving its long eccen- 
tric spells of rain, it is remarkably pleasant. Its sky 
is not to be trusted. For whole days it is always 



436 WINTER IN ROME. 

clearing off, and never clear. Sunshine and rain walk 
hand in hand. Sometimes it shines on unmolested 
during the heaviest showers, spreading the earth with a 
carpet of rainbow-colors. During more than a month that 
I have been here, we have had no snow, a few slight 
frosts, and once or twice that the ground was frozen 
a little. Rome cannot get any nearer to winter than 
March, and a mild March at that. Now the weather 
is perceptibly growing milder still. In the middle of 
January spring is coming apace. 

For many centuries the Jews have been a proscribed 
race in Rome. Fifty years before our Saviour's birth, 
Pompey burned part of the temple of Jerusalem, and 
sent many captive Jews to Rome as slaves. From this 
time the children of Abraham were greatly oppressed in 
the "Eternal City." After the destruction of Jerusa- 
lem under Titus, seventy years after Christ, thousands 
of captive Jews were made to grace his triumphal pro- 
cession on his return to the great city of the Empire. 
On their heads they were forced to bear the trophies 
plundered from their people ; even the sacred utensils of 
the temple. The galling scene is carved on the arch of 
Titus, where the wondering traveler can study the pic- 
ture hewn on stone to this day. Not long after this 
12,000 Jews wrought at the building of the Coliseum. 

In the lower part of the city, along the banks of the 
Tiber, is a narrow section, called the Ghetto. For 
many centuries it has been the Jewish quarter. Very 
probably it was the Jewish quarter in the days of 
Christ. Here, most likely, Paul lived among his He- 
brew brethren while at Rome. If so, then the first 
congregation of Christians was started in this part of 



THE GHETTO OF ROME. 437 

Rome. In his own hired house the great apostle lived 
for two years, and certainly among his own brethren. 
Acts 28 : 30 ; " Here he received all that came in unto 
him." 

The Jewish quarter, in all Italian towns, is called 
"The Ghetto." 

That of Rome is so called by pre-eminence. Till 
the year 1848 it was enclosed by a heavy wall. Seven 
gates formed the entrance. To this enclosure the Jews 
were mechanically confined. At night the gates were 
barred. A solitary portress had charge of them during 
the night. She lived outside the walls. Since then a 
brighter day has dawned upon the Jews of Rome. The 
reign of Victor Emanuel turned them loose from the 
barbarism and bondage of centuries. The wall has 
been removed, and the children of Abraham go where 
they choose, sit " every man under his vine and under 
his fig tree, and none shall make them afraid." Micah 
4: 4. 

The Ghetto consists of two narrow streets; so nar- 
row, that the coachmen can only wind their way 
through them with great caution and care. The dingy, 
ancient houses are so high that the sun seldom shines 
on the narrow pavements. The Via Fiumara runs 
close along the Tiber. Its annual freshets sweep 
through the houses, sometimes through the third-story. 
The Via Rua is on higher ground, and suffers less 
from the overflowing of the river. Between these two 
long streets there is a net-work of alleys, and narrow, 
dark passages, many not more than a few feet in 
width. The whole is honey-combed with dens, rather 
than dwellings, where families labor, trade, sleep and 



438 THE CHILDREN OF ABRAHAM IN ROME. 

eat. Many a dark hole is crammed with human 
beings, where most people would disdain to put their 
cattle. 

Here where they and their fathers had lived for 
two thousand years, no Jew could own a house or lot. 
Neither horse nor wagon could they own. No regular 
trade could they ply. They were allowed to mend 
old clothes, but not to make new ones; to mend shoes, 
but not to make them. Petty trade they could engage in, 
but not in the regular business of other people. Their 
taxes Avere far higher than those of Christians. At the 
Fish Market stood a church, erected for the conversion 
of the Jews. Certain hours of the week they were 
forced to hear the sermons of the priest therein, and 
support him with their money. Now they no longer 
visit the Church of St. Angelo, in Pescharia, nor pay 
taxes for its support. 

At the coronation of every Pope they had to spread 
carpets, and provide silken hangings on and around 
the Arch of Titus, the monument of the destruction of 
their Temple and city — of their humiliation and degra- 
dation ; they had to robe it with costly clothes. 

From the time of Vespasian, in the first century 
of the Christian Era, they have been the victims of 
tyranny. He imposed an annual tax upon them. It 
was made as high as their tribute paid to the treasury 
of the Temple. This tax, then paid at the Capitol, 
was afterwards paid to the Pope. Even Constantine 
enforced cruel edicts against the Jews. Often they 
were banished from their homes in the Ghetto, and 
driven across the Tiber. 

This cruel oppression greatly reduced them. "A 



THE PURSUITS OF THE JEWS IN ROME. 439 

basket to hold their provisions in, and a bundle of straw 
on which to rest the weary head, was all the property 
they had." Thus says an old writer. And another tells 
us: "That the phylacteries were so scarce amongst 
them, that they had to wait one for another, when 
saying their morning prayers." For a long time they 
had to hold their religious services in caves and in 
Catacombs, on account of persecution. Oppression 
drove some to literary pursuits. For a season they 
ranked high among men of science — as they now do. 
"For a long time bishops, popes and cardinals, and the 
best families of Rome, employed none but Jewish 
physicians; they were loved and blessed, though their 
nation and creed were hated and cursed." A stroll 
through the Ghetto now well repays the traveler. Shops 
filled with goods from all parts of the world meet the 
eye. The costly luxuries of the Orient, and the simpler 
articles for poorer people, are here sold. Little is seen 
by the passer-by. Their goods are stored away under 
cover. Many a poor Jew will whisper " Hush, hush !" 
when you ask him for them. 

With large sacks hung on their shoulders, they 
trudge through the streets of Rome, in quest of gold, 
silver, old paintings, old furniture, old clothes, old 
everything. Some collect their goods in wheelbarrows. 
At night-fall the wandering Jew returns to his den in 
the Ghetto, laden like the busy bee with the gathered 
harvest of the day. He is tired and hungry, and 
gratefully sits him down to the frugal supper his wife 
has prepared. She and the children meanwhile care- 
fully unpack the sack or barrow. And such a world 
of odd and seemingly worthless stuff is a curiosity to 
behold. 



440 A JEWISH SABBATH IN ROME. 

On Friday evening, a little before sunset, the Ghetto 
presents an interesting sight. It is the evening before 
the (Jewish) Sabbath. All the shops are shut. Business 
is stopped. Through the doors of the dwellings you 
see the people brushing their clothes, washing and dress- 
ing themselves. Boys, girls and servants come home, 
bearing on boards smoking loaves of fresh baked bread ; 
the loaves shaped according to the custom of the Jews. 
The women make their toilet. Then they prepare the 
table for supper, trim the lamps, set the shew-bread of 
which they break off a piece, say a short prayer, and 
then throw a piece into the fire. They also pronounce 
a blessing with outspread hands for the lights when they 
are kindled. The streets are empty. All the goods are 
taken down from the walls, windows and door-posts of 
the houses. Men and boys go to the synagogue with 
prayer books in hand. The Sabbath of the Lord has 
commenced. The women and girls remain at home. 
The modern Mosaic religion has no comfort for women. 
You may hear their voices in social conversation as you 
pass ; not unlikely the shrill sounds of strife will grate 
upon your ear. But in worship the daughter of Abra- 
ham is silent and unseen. When the men and boys 
come home from the synagogue, they all wish each other 
"a good Sabbath." Then they sit down to their supper 
in a home-like happy mood. They feel that they still are 
God's chosen people, though living in the Ghetto of Rome. 
On our Saturday they keep their Sabbath clay holy. 
In their house no manner of work is done, by son or 
daughter, man servant or maid servant, nor the stranger 
that is in the gates. 

They have different shades of belief, although all 



THE JEWS A DISTINCT RACE. 441 

are Jews. To accommodate these there are five syna- 
gogues. All these occupy one large building in the Pi- 
azza della Seuola. There, too, are their schools ; the 
best in Rome for elementary education. Italian and 
Hebrew are well taught. Studies pertaining to Jewish 
history and Theology are taught by private teachers, 
especially by the chief Rabbi. 

In the Ghetto, as all the world over, the Jews re- 
main a distinct people, separate from the "Gentiles." 
They have never intermixed nor intermarried with the 
people around them. Their temptation to do this, amid 
their galling helpless bondage, must have been very 
strong. Rather than yield to it they have quietly suf- 
fered, and given their children in marriage only to those 
of their own nation doomed to the same ill-fortune. 

They are pure Jews now as they were in the reign 
of Vespasian. Their faces bear the stamp of Abraham ; 
their features are strikingly oriental. Nearly all the 
younger people are good-looking. The women are 
mostly pretty, some of them charmingly so. Old men 
with long grey beards, and a calm venerable mien, re- 
mind one of the ancient patriarchs. Many children with 
large black eyes, long eye-lashes and full eye-brows, are 
lovely. Such as the old painters used as models to 
paint the child Jesus. A tender heart can see their 
beauty through their rags and dirt, and love them 
withal. At the worst they are not as squalid and beg- 
garly as those you find ouside of the Ghetto. Here you 
are not hunted down for whole squares with loathsome 
beggars as you are at the Church doors and in the 
principal streets of Rome, 



CHAPTER XXI 



A CHRISTMAS IN ROME. FROM ROME TO NAPLES. 

THE STREETS OF NAPLES. CAMALDOLIO. MT. 

VESUVIUS. POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM. 

SORRENTO. CAPRI. A DISGUSTING 

SEA VOYAGE. PUTEOLI. 



It is the 24th of December, a Roman festival. The 
Corso is packed with a confused stream of people 
from all the world. Roman streets have no pavements 
in our sense. Narrow sidewalks from one to three feet 
wide. The vast crowd of less fortunate walkers, had to 
thread their way among the confusion of horses, coaches, 
of princes, buyers and beggars, as best they could. 
Many a lady saw I on that day, with a fortune on her 
back ; bedecked with costliest satins, diamonds and jewels. 
Her apparel so gorgeous, her bearing so proud, that one 
felt surprised that she should be willing to breathe 
the same air the beggar did. Above the rattling of 
coaches, and the impatient shout of footmen and 
drivers, you could hear the whining cries of Rome's 
horde of paupers, hailing you on every side with the 
cry of " Pauverino." One lacks a leg, another an arm, 
one an eye, another both ; women holding blind, 
scabby, scrofulous children, covered with a few rags 
and much filth, right before your face. In between the 
slow-moving lines of coaches, they limp after alms, all 
the while holding the putrid arm, or the eyeless sockets 
and ulcerous features of a child before the open car- 
riages of gay ladies, crying " Pauverino, Signora, Pau- 
verino !" 442 



THE STREETS OF ROME. 443 

In ordinary times Rome has hospital accommoda- 
tions for many thousand people, besides a large number 
of other charitable institutions. Yet her streets swarm 
with beggars who excite mingled feelings of horror and 
pity. Rome has but few straight streets of any consid- 
erable length. The three which centre in the Piazza 
del Populo, and the Via de Condotti, running from the 
Piazza di Spagna to the bridge of St. Angelo across the 
Tiber, are her chief avenues of communication. The 
latter is not a straight line. Rome is a net-work of 
crooked streets; fragments, which are a perpetual 
puzzle to a stranger. My residence was near the 
Piazza di Spagna, a large open square at the eastern 
end of the city. At the opposite end is St. Peter's. 
This building is one of the wonders of the world. It 
covers almost six acres of ground, cost over $50,000,000, 
and required 350 y"ears to build it. Of course, the 
work of building was not carried on through every 
one of these years. Its erection covered the reign of 
forty-three popes. Some of these found great trouble 
to procure money sufficient for the work. Julius II. 
and Leo X. resorted to the sale of indulgences to get 
more funds. Our readers well know that the sale of 
indulgences was one of the evils which gave rise to 
the Reformation. Its length is 613 feet and its great- 
est width 440. The dome which surmounts it, is al- 
most 200 feet in diameter, and its top over 400 feet 
above the pavement. 

This is the largest church in the world. It is not 
all in one apartment. Along the sides are many chapels, 
themselves as large as small churches. It is adorned 
with statues and paintings, works of Angelo, Raphael, 



444 THE TREASURES OF THE VATICAN. 

and of all the greater and lesser lights of classic Art. 
The ceiling of the dome and the walls everywhere 
charm the eye with the creations of genius. The 
immense roof, 150 feet above the pavement of the 
Church, is supported by massive columns. Several 
lines of these on each side run up their mighty trunks, 
and spread their tops in a canopy of stone-leaves, limbs 
and branches along the ceiling. 

Adjoining St. Peter's is the Vatican, the palace of 
the Pope. It has become the symbolical seat of his 
power. Hence when the Pope issues an edict or bull of 
penal judgment, it is sometimes called "the thunders 
of the Vatican." This is the most noted palace in the 
known world. It was commenced more than 1000 
years ago. Its length is 1151 and its breadth 767 
feet. It contains 8 grand staircases, 200 smaller stair- 
cases, 20 courts and 4422 rooms.' The most of these 
are galleries of Art. Thousands upon thousands of these 
precious works of the great Masters, a single one of 
which is worth a fortune, adorn these apartments. It 
contains a history of the world's religions, chiseled in 
marble and pencilled on canvass. Adam and Abra- 
ham, Noah and Neptune, Job and Jove, Moses and the 
Son of Mary, David and David's son, Paul the Apostle 
and Apollo Belvedere, Jesus and Julius Caesar, gods 
and goddesses, the Creator and the creature, are here all 
set forth amid their proper groups and surroundings. 

The chief apartment of the building is the Sixtine 
Chapel, a church 135 by 45 feet in size. Here the 
Pope holds High Mass on the great festivals of the year. 
On the ceiling is Angelo's painting of the creation. 

"We will meet a^t my room at seven, this evening," 



CHRISTMAS EVE IN ROME. 445 

said my Polish friend to me at parting on the afternoon 
of December 24. " Be it so. Bear in mind, no later. 
At eight the Pope will hold grand Mass in the Sixtine 
Chapel. Rarely have tourists a chance to attend such 
a service here. Our only chance is to-night." 

Ten minutes before seven I groped my way up a 
dark narrow stairway that led to his door. "Herein," 
he shouted as I rapped. " Haste thee, friend, we have 
need to be in time where there is such a crowd." 
The streets of Rome are poorly lighted. Only after long 
intervals we met a lamp in the Via de Condotti. Al- 
though Christmas eve, we encountered but few people 
on our dark and dreary way. For at night this is 
rather an unfrequented street. Far off, in other parts of 
the city, we heard the clatter of horses' hoofs and rolling 
of carriages. Here every tread of our heavy hob-nail 
boots echoed strangely through the night air. On the 
bridge across the Tiber, we joined the current of people. 
The great square in front of St. Peter's was crowded 
with coaches. Soldiers on horseback kept riding back 
and forward to prevent them from running over the 
people, or into each other. Now and then one of 
these men of blood would unsheathe his sword, and 
threaten to thrust it through some impertinent postil- 
lion. Going up the long great staircase of the Vatican, 
I discovered that my friend had on a neat black dress- 
coat. "A gay brother thou art, in sooth. What a 
tidy coat." " Yes, and thou wilt regret having none. A 
pretty garment is that for such a place and occasion. 
Thou hast worn it since the time we first met on that 
dark rainy night, crossing the Appenines on the top 
of the diligence. Hast thou not read the programme ? 



446 IN WANT OF A COAT. 

All ladies must be dressed with a black veil; gentle- 
men in black cloth, the outer garment a dress-coat, 
and nothing else. Your's is a frock, and by this time 
rather a shabby frock, at that." 

Now the only coat I had in the world, was the frock- 
coat I wore. I made it a point to travel with as little 
baggage as possible. I never carried more than one 
suit with me. When that was pretty well worn, I 
threw it aside and bought another. The cloth of my 
coat was pretty well worn. And alas ! it had the 
wrong cut. It was too late now to hire a suit. For 
in Rome there are stores, which furnish suits for such 
occasions, at a fixed sum per day. 

Several tall Swiss soldiers guarded the door of the 
chapel — members of the Pope's Body Guard. Noble- 
looking men they were, with heavy helmets, and a 
yellow and black-striped gay uniform, each having a 
long lance in the right hand with one end resting on 
the pavement. A great crowd pressed around the 
door, impatient to enter. The guards examined each 
one's coat; one after the other was turned back. Alas 
for me! A few friends called me to one side, and 
advised me to use an innocent trick. " What harm can 
there be to tuck the front corners of your coat-skirts 
under? The guard will take it for a dress-coat then." 
<'No, sirs, honestly or not at all," I replied. With 
strange misgivings, I presented myself, and was of 
course turned back. When the most had entered I 
approached one of the Guards. "Stranger, I am a 
tourist from America, from the land of liberty, dear to 
all the sons of Tell. I may never have another oppor- 
tunity to attend a similar service here. My unbecom- 



THE POPE IN THE SIXTINE CHAPEL. 447 

ing coat is a matter of accident, and not a want of rev- 
erence for the occasion. Could you not favor me with 
admittance?" Waving his hand with a smile, he 
replied, "Stand yonder until I call you." When 
the rest had entered he gave me the signal, and I 
stepped in. The chapel was densely packed. I barely 
found a place to stand inside the door. The congrega- 
tion was of course select. The best music in Rome is 
in this chapel on such occasions. This evening it was 
perfectly overpowering. Not congregational singing, as 
you find in some parts of the Catholic service, but in- 
strumental music, accompanied by the most select sing- 
ers of Italy. High Mass was held in the presence of 
the Pope. The chapel was dark with clouds of incense. 
Through this haze the great lights shone dimly, and the 
Creation on the ceiling was but faintly visible, and the 
dead rising from their graves and going up to the Judg- 
ment at the other end, looked like living beings in the 
misty distance of coming ages. While enjoying all, less 
as an act of worship, I confess, than as an aesthetical 
treat, — I felt guilty ; thought of the man in the para- 
ble, who stole into the great supper without a wedding 
garment on. The services lasted till midnight. Long 
before this hour I had reached my lodgings, and mused 
before the fire on my hearth over Christmas eves in 
happier homes. I was alone and lonely in a strange 
city, one of the strangest in the world ; far from the 
scenes of my childhood. Visions of the innocent divine 
Christ-child passed before my mind as they used to 
bless my childhood, kneeling at my little trundle bed 
at night, and thanking God with folded hands that Je- 
sus became a little child to bless little children. The 



448 CHRISTMAS IN ROME. 

kind-hearted Chriskindel hanging bags of nuts and can- 
dies on bed-posts and in chimney corners ; filling baskets 
with blessings when we children were sweetly asleep, 
and filling our minds with dreams such as angels have. 
Waking us before break of day, and sending us skip- 
ping up and down the house in our night slips, hunting 
the hidden gifts of good St. Nicholas. These along 
with the gods and glories of the Vatican filled my head 
in dreams after going to sleep. 

Early next morning the church bells all over Rome 
were set to ringing ; some of them ringing with meas- 
ured and melodious sounds, others with a clattering ding- 
dong noise. Every hour of the day they rang. On 
my way to St. Peter's I stopped in at a number of 
churches, all crowded. At 9 A. M. all the principal 
streets leading to St. Peter's were thronged with people. 
Each Cardinal came in his own coach, drawn by a span 
of jet black horses, smooth as a polished silk hat. Liv- 
eried horsemen rode before and after the coach. The 
Cardinals wore purple or scarlet robes. The coaches 
and harness abounded with heavy gold plating, of daz- 
zling brightness in the morning sun. The gentry and 
common people, Romans and strangers, kept pouring 
into the great building for hours. 

A detachment of soldiers guarded the entrance. 
The Swiss Body Guard were encased in a heavy steel 
armor, like the stern warriors of a thousand years ago; 
tall, erect, brave-looking fellows, fine specimens of 
manly Alpine vigor. The Pope's favorite battalion, 
composed of select men from noble and wealthy fami- 
lies, in splendid uniforms, formed a passage through 
the centre of the church, from the door back around the 



A GREAT DAY IN ST. PETER'S. 449 

High Altar. At least 10,000 people must have been 
in the building. Even this number did not entirely 
fill it. 

At 10 A. M. the military suddenly dropped on 
their knees. It was as the dropping of one man. 
Upon this all eyes were turned towards the entrance. 
Out of the chapel, near the grand door, came the Pope's 
procession with slow and gentle tread. Twelve tall 
men, clothed in purple, all of one size, bore a platform 
on their shoulders, above the heads of the people. On 
this sat the Pope, on a throne, under a canopy. His 
rich robes were inwrought with glittering gold and 
precious stones. On each side a large fan of ostrich 
feathers was bowie aloft, near his person. With breath- 
less silence the great congregation watched the gorgeous 
procession of cardinals and bishops,- arrayed in costly 
robes of richest colors, slowly moving towards and 
around the High Altar. 

A certain distinguished Frenchman wondered 
whether Newton, the great English philosopher, ate 
and slept like other people. And many a one, not 
distinguished, wonders whether the Roman Pontiff is 
troubled with the wants of ordinary mortals. The 
most of Protestants, visitors at Rome, no matter how 
bitter their anti-papal antipathies, are eager to get a 
glimpse of the Pope. And rarely do you meet one so 
ill-mannered, as to behave indecorously in his presence. 
He is cast in a mortal mould, made of like stuff with 
ourselves. Yet, in his position a being without a peer. 
Say what we will, the "chair of St. Peter," whatever 
definition Protestants aud Catholics may give of its 
functions, wields a sceptre mighter than that of any 
29 



450 Pius ix. in st. peter's. 

throne on earth. He is monarch of 150,000,000 of 
subjects, whom he sways with almost absolute authority, 
who regard him as the vicar of Christ, the only supreme 
pastor of his flock. Standing on the steps of St. 
Peter's one day, the people around me suddenly 
dropped on their knees. With that I saw the Pope 
riding by in his carriage, drawn by a glossy span of 
gay horses. Somehow the command, "Thou shalt not 
bow down to, nor worship them," occurred to me. All 
those around me knelt. I simply uncovered my head, 
without kneeling. This I always did when I passed 
him on the streets, usually standing still until he had 
passed. I was near him as they carried him along. 
He is a man of medium height, somewhat inclined 
to corpulency. His flushed oval face did not indicate 
the practice of very severe austerity. Yet he is doubt- 
less very temperate in his habits. A child-like, unaffected 
smile beamed from his countenance, the whole expres- 
sive of a humane and amiable character. 

Seated on a throne in the rear of the High Altar, 
some of the prelates kneeling, saluted him with a kiss 
on his knee. Then the Pope held grand Mass, sur- 
rounded by his cardinals, clergy and the whole court. 

At the end of the service the Pope was carried 
back to the chapel, whence he had come. The multitude 
dispersed in a violent shower. It was a grand display. 
This majestic temple, hung with costly ornaments, 
fragrant with incense, vocal with sweetest melodies of 
praise; the supreme Head of the Roman Catholic 
Church holding grand Mass, surrounded by an imposing 
array of robed cardinals — it was an imposing occasion. 
And yet, grand as it was, the simpler Christmas festivals, 



NEW YEAR'S EVE IN ROME. 451 

to which I had previously been accustomed, seemed 
more in keeping with the great event of the day. The 
imagination was greatly wrought upon, but the heart 
again wandered back to other lands, and less imposing 
ceremonials. 

It was midnight in Rome. In the via di Maria di 
Fiori, a narrow, dark street, near the Piazza di Spagna, 
myself and a Polish friend stood at the door of a private 
dwelling. We spoke in a half-whisper. For this part 
of the city was then haunted with frightful rumors. 
An American traveler was said to have recently been 
killed for his money. Besides, the Roman gens d'armes 
are always at one's heels after night. And, once they 
have you in their damp dungeons, it will be easy 
to create a charge against a foreigner. Especially here, 
where the air is alive with suspicion. 

Just then the clock on a neighboring tower struck 
twelve — the knell of the departed year; and this set 
half a dozen others a tolling. The Pole quickly grasped 
my hand, and greeted me with "Ein glueckseliges 
neues Jahr." And so we parted. I groped my way up 
a dark stairway. At the top I knocked for entrance. 
A crazy inmate of the family greeted me with a volley 
of epithets, such as are usually applied to Roman 
thieves and burglars. Every third word seemed to 
be "Diabolus." This noise brought a sane person to 
the door, and I was admitted to my rooms. 

On an open hearth a fire glowed and crackled. 
Before it I sat and mused for an hour. Mused over 
the "Diabolus" of this crazy woman. For surely, since 
the days of Romulus and Remus the devil has been a 
prominent citizen of Rome. I thought of Paul, a 



452 NEW YEAR'S DAY IN ROME. 

prisoner in chains, and of Ignatius, eaten in the Col- 
iseum by lions and tigers, "to make a Roman holiday ;" 
and of many others who bore and bled for Christ, in 
this venerable city. 

I stepped to the window to listen to Rome after 
midnight. The city was all asleep and silent, save 
the great clocks, that had just struck twelve, clicking 
the measure of time. Occasionally the distant rumbling 
of a cab on the Corso was heard. 

A lovely day was this New Year in Rome. A 
dreamlike, balmy breath pervaded the air, like that of 
the closing days of an American September. In the 
afternoon, the Corso — the Broadway of Rome — was 
thronged with a motley multitude. Unlike our Broad- 
way, everybody had to walk in the middle of the street, 
there being no sidewalks or pavements. Barouches, 
with proud horses, hung with glittering harness, con- 
taining riders prouder still, whose dresses and diamonds 
alone would have bought half the Pope's possessions, 
kept passing back and forward, in processions seemingly 
as long as the street. One might have thought that 
London, Paris and Berlin had poured all their nobility 
into the Corso, through the opening of the year. 
English cockneys, with choking collars and lofty hats, 
rode their prancing steeds through the crowd. Among 
this display of horses and carriages a vast multitude of 
people swarmed back and forward — the rich, rustling 
in silk and satin; the dirty, ragged, poor shrieking at 
you from every side, "pauverino! pauverino! Signor!" 
How such a mass can crowd confusedly through such a 
narrow street for eight hours, without killing hundreds 
of people outright, no one can explain. This processiou 



"the three taverns." 453 

of riches and rags, of silks and sighs, was an instructive 
commentary on Rome, past and present. 

As it is more pleasant to travel by land than water in 
Italy, a party of six of us hired a carriage to take us to 
Naples. We paid sixty-two dollars for our boarding, 
lodging and fare. The distance is about one hundred 
and sixty miles. When we reached the top of a hill, 
at the end of the city of Rome, I looked back for the 
last time upon the Coliseum, and then our fiery-black 
steeds, champing their bits, hurried us away from one 
of the most enchanting places that I have ever visited. 
During the afternoon we rode over a hilly, but fertile 
country, and poorly cultivated. More than half of it 
is lying wild and waste. Its inhabitants roast in the 
sun, and rob for want of bread and labor. 

We stopped for the night at Cisterna, "The Three 
Taverns," whither the brethren came out to meet Paul 
on his way to Rome. Acts 28: 15. It is a gloomy, 
filthy country village. The next day we were hurried off 
an hour before day, as we had a long day's journey before 
us. For thirty-six miles from Cisterna we rode 
through the Pontine Marshes, an uninhabited level, 
covered with swamps and large ponds, which fill the 
air with so much poison, that nobody can live there 
untouched by sickness and death. It is a dreary coun- 
try to travel through, where few human beings venture 
to dwell. When we were half-way through, we reached 
a small tavern, a solitary dwelling in the lonely waste, 
whose inhabitants have a yellow, emaciated appearance, 
showing that they live and breathe in a deadly atmos- 
phere. This is the old " Appii Forum," whither some 
of the brethren of Borne came out to meet Paul, 



454 "appii forum." 

Acts 28. Although the ground is marshy, the road 
is solid and durable. 

At the end of the marshes we reached Terraciua, 
on the banks of the sea, where we rested several hours. 
Lofty masses of rocks hang over the city. The sea was 
wild. Waves, half as high as the house, broke upon 
the shore. The people along the borders of the marshes 
looked sallow and sickly. At Fondi, another consid- 
erable town, noted for being fruitful in robbers, we 
prevailed upon the custom-house officer to save our 
baggage from being examined. We drove through a 
square, where about five hundred men stood around in 
suspicious silence. I have no doubt, from their looks, 
that there was more than one robber among them. All 
through this country the road is guarded day and night 
by soldiers, to keep off the robbers. 

We stopped the second night at Mola de Gaeta. 
Our hotel stood in a villa, which once belonged to 
Cicero. In the evening we went through the villa to 
the edge of the sea, to look at the baths and other 
buildings of Cicero, which are now in ruins. Its 
orange orchards were full of ripe oranges. It is a 
charming sight to behold these yellow groves, like our 
apple-orchards, full of plump, sweet fruit among their dark 
green leaves. They were lying thick on the ground, 
Avhich we could pick up at will, like apples after an 
autumn storm. The next morning our merry driver 
rumbled through the dark, crooked streets an hour 
before dawn. We passed by a small rural village, 
where the farmers were just going out into the fields 
to work. For more than a mile the road was full of 
men, women and children, donkeys, dogs and little 



FROM ROME TO NAPLES. 455 

pigs. The men and women had three-edged spades, 
with which to dig up their beds of earth. I saw only 
two plows in the whole crowd ; and such plows ! We 
dined at Capua, and hunted for interesting sights. The 
beggars followed us into the church. The country- 
looked more like a series of gardens, than a common 
farming district, and all who worked in them, dug like 
gardeners. Fig and date trees abounded along the 
road. In some places all the trees were connected by 
grape vines, which wound along from one tree-top to 
another. We passed through the Falernian district, 
still fertile in grapes. The busy laborers in the fields, 
the green grass on the mountains and in the valleys, 
untouched by frost, and the numerous olive trees, which 
are an evergreen, gave a fresh appearance to the whole. 
The fig trees had no leaves yet, but the oranges and 
olives, and pleasant sunshine, filled the fields with signs 
of coming spring. The peas and some trees were in 
blossom. Parts of the road over which we came, are 
remains of the Appian Way of the ancients, over which 
St. Paul doubtless traveled, when he went as a prisoner 
to Pome. 

Before we entered the gates of Naples, we had to 
fee the custom-house officers thrice for not disturbing 
our bassao-e. Indeed these officials care little whether 
travelers bring whole trunks full of forbidden articles 
into Naples, only so they get a fee for not doing what 
many of them are too lazy to do. The money is what 
they want ; and if any refuse to reward their indolence, 
their disappointment will pitch and tumble the contents 
of the trunks into dire confusion, to vent their rage on 
the owners. In other countries this would be called 



456 STREET LIFE IN NAPLES. 

smuggling and bribery, here it passes off under the eyes 
of the government as an innocent trick. 

Naples is a large city, full of bustle and life, in 
quaint and queer forms. But the city is far less enter- 
taining than the country around it. 

To-day, February 2d, is Candlemass-day, which the 
Catholics here and elsewhere observe as a sacred festival. 
It is the day for blessing candles. All the stores and 
shops in the city were closed. The streets were 
crowded with carriages, some driving as fast as the 
horses could run. The common people have a singular 
half-dray, half-gig conveyance, which carries ten to 
fifteen people. One seat is hung on old-fashioned gig 
springs, the rest sit on the shafts, or hang and stand 
around the seat, while the horse dashes along at full 
speed. 

Naples has many things in common with Rome. 
A great many beggars, many blind people, some of 
whom will tear open their sightless eye-sockets at you, 
to prompt you to give them something. In one quarter 
of the city many of the people live and carry on their 
business out of doors. Shoemakers and blacksmiths 
work in the streets, while their families are busy around 
them in cooking, washing, and many other duties, 
which the rest of the world attend to within doors. 
There are very few wagons or carts here. Wood, hay 
and straw, marketing and manure are transported from 
place to place on small horses and donkeys. They pile 
huge bales on them, until you see nothing but the head 
and feet of the animals. When they sweep through the 
narrow streets, they leave scarce room enough to pass 
them. I passed one which had a large pile of cabbage 



THE SURROUNDINGS OF NAPLES. 457 

on him; by some means he lost his balance, when the 
cabbage went to the ground, and the donkey, tied to it, 
threw his feet up where the head should have been. 

I visited an asylum at the extreme end of the city ; 
it is now about a quarter of a mile long and nearly that 
wide ; when finished it will be a third of a mile in 
length. It has at present 3200 inmates. They have a 
chapel where they attend worship, a large room where 
they practice music, and a theatre. The most of them 
are boys and girls, and all looked cheerful and happy. 

One pleasant day, that is, a day which had several 
hours of clear weather, we went to Camaldolio, on a high 
mountain, about seven or eight miles from our hotel. 
From its pure heights we looked down upon the city — 
containing over 400,000 inhabitants and a number of 
towns joining it — and the Bay of Naples running its 
large prongs into it ; large plains covered with villages, 
vineyards and volcanoes, whose chimneys once vomited 
up fiery fluid rocks. A Benedictine convent stands on 
the top. A friendly friar took us through one of the 
little cottages where the monks live. It was a small 
one-story building about fifteen feet square. Before the 
door stood a large orange tree, bending down with a 
heavy crop of ripe fruit. The monk seeing that I was 
pleased with them, told me to pick one off, which tasted 
as good as it looked. Oranges grow so abundantly here 
that one can buy them cheaper than apples. They sell 
them at one cent for three, and by the gross perhaps at 
half that price. The weather is warmer here than it 
was at Rome ; but the winter of Naples always abounds 
with rains. 

We made an excursion along the sea-shore, examiq- 



458 HABITS OF THE NEAPOLITANS. 

ing ruins and other relics of the ancients. Suddenly a 
squall of rain blew over us, carrying my hat toward 
the sea. When I tried to put it back, the wind blew 
so hard that I could not keep it on with both hands. 
So I had to push my way through the rain and storm 
for a short distance bare-headed. In the meanwhile it 
grew dark, and as we had three or four miles to reach 
home, we took a cab along the way. It was down hill 
to Naples. The driver drove at full speed, all the while 
singing his Italian ditties through the storm and rain. 

In any other part of the world, a city with four 
hundred thousand inhabitants, and many characteristics 
peculiarly its own, might interest the curious traveler 
for whole weeks; but nature and history have given 
to the surrounding scenery a charm superior to that 
of the city iiself. While it deserves to be 
ranked among the first of Italian cities for indolence 
and pauperism, it has a great deal of harmless good 
nature, which is either too ignorant or too lazy to be 
wicked. With the large bulk of Neapolitans, the 
highest good is a tranquil inactivity. Few people have 
less labor-saving ingenuity, and few could better enjoy 
its benefits. The streets of Naples abound with all 
manner of grotesque entertainments. Herdsmen drive 
their goats from door to door, to furnish fresh milk to 
their customers, one of the few articles which a person 
can buy here, without the peril of deception. They 
milk them directly from their full udders, into the bowls 
of their patrons. Dancers, wranglers, fiddlers, gamblers, 
masquerades and comic singers enact scenes ludicrous 
and lewd, worthy of the palmy days of Pagan corrup- 
tion. Strange that one of the most enchanting regions 



ASCENT OF MT. VESUVIUS. 459 

of natural beauty that the eye of man ever beheld, 
should be the home of so much oppression, corruption 
and misery. 

For a whole week we watched and waited for a clear 
day, to visit Mount Vesuvius, and still it rained. And 
when the clear day at length arrived our little party 
was all astir early in the morning, every face beaming 
with expectant joy, in the hope of seeing this safety 
valve of a burning world. We rode to Resina in a 
carriage, and from there ascended to the base of the 
cone on horses, just large enough to lift my feet off the 
ground. It is very seldom that snow falls in and 
around Naples, yet on the top of Vesuvius, nearly four 
thousand feet above the sea, it was several feet deep. 
The ascent up the cone was about one mile in length, 
and very steep. After one hour's slipping and labori- 
ous climbing we at length stood on the edge of a crater, 
amid an almost suffocating cloud of sulphurous vapor. 
While listening with timid astonishment to the pent- 
up hissings of the huge kettle below, and stooping over 
its edge, trying to peer down through the curling steam, a 
terrific explosion, worthy of the fabled power of Vulcan's 
artillery, filled the air with whizzing stones, and sent us 
running in all directions with dread-depicted features, 
as if a bomb had fallen amongst us. 

After a brief explanation the guide coaxed us back 
again. The second crater is less boisterous, though 
equally active. It is about one hundred and fifty feet 
deep, and the same number of feet in diameter at the 
bottom. Towards one side of it is a cone about seventy- 
five feet in height, blowing up fiery vapor and melted 
masses of lava, belching and puffing like the chimney 



460 ON THE TOP OF VESUVIUS. 

of a huge subterranean engine. Far down in its mouth 
could be seen the trembling commotion of boiling mat- 
ter. We descended to the base of the cone, and watched 
its heavings, while pieces of melted red lava hailed down 
around us. The ground is full of holes and crevices 
through which hot vapors escape. One of our party 
laid an egg into a hot crack in the earth, which was 
boiled in a few moments. The curling column of vapor 
and smoke that rises from the crest of the cone, soars 
into the heavens like a fleecy cloud. The descent was 
soon accomplished. Each struck out a new track 
through the snow and ashes. All that was necessary 
wis to throw the legs forward; we slid to the base 
of the cone in ten-feet strides in less than ten minutes. 
The streams of lava around the mountain resemble the 
rough fissured surface of glaciers. 

At Puteoli is the Solfatara, which, though fifteen 
miles distant from Vesuvius, has communication with 
it. The bottom of this crater gives forth a hollow sound 
like the lid of a great kettle, whose fire shines through 
the cracks of the floor after night. A large hole be- 
neath a rock serves as a safety valve of this immense 
boiler, which roars with a loud and shrill noise. When 
this is quiet it is taken as a sure indication of some por- 
tentous mischief brewing in Vesuvius. 

The ancient cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii, 
the former five and the latter thirteen miles from Na- 
ples, were destroyed in the year 79, by an eruption of 
Vesuvius. Pompeii was buried beneath a mass of ashes 
blown over it by a violent wind. It is supposed that 
most of the inhabitants escaped. In 1748 the sinking 
of a well exhumed several statues, and led to the dis^ 



HERCULANEUM AND POMPEII. 461 

covery of the remains of the ancient city. The houses 
were precisely found as they had been left. Inns, offi- 
ces, shops, with their respective tools and furniture, the 
public bake-house, a soap factory, just as they were in 
vogue two thousand years ago. The houses and apart- 
ments are generally small. The most of them have no 
front windows. The streets have raised side walks sev- 
eral feet wide, and between these a road wide enough 
for one vehicle to pass through at a time. The larger 
dwellings have small domestic chapels for the worship 
of the penates or household gods, and a separate apart- 
ment for the priest of the family. The names of the 
owners are on the front of the houses. In the gateway 
of Diomede's garden two skeletons were found, one hav- 
ing a bunch of keys and wearing a gold ring, with a 
bag of silver and gold lying near it. In another dwel- 
ling a skeleton had four gold rings on one finger. A 
sentinel was found in his box, where he faithfully stood 
on duty till he was covered beneath the showers of ruin. 
Herculaneum was submerged by a flood of liquid lava, 
which must be chiseled out of its moulds to 'bring the 
dwellings to light. The decorations of the theatre, and 
furniture of the dwellings were found justas they had been 
left. What strange thoughts crowd upon the mind as 
one walks through these untenanted streets, once filled 
with a busy throng. To peep into the rooms where 
they ate and talked ; where they slept and prayed to their 
fabled gods ; where their children prattled and played. 
Just when every street and doorway were teeming with 
the living forms of pleasure and gaiety, while the cup 
was lingering on the lip, the mountain vomited death 
upon them, running into the streets and houses like so 



462 PUTEOLI. 

much melted lead, covering the whole, and then cool- 
ing into hard lava, and as by an enchanter's wand, 
turning the city into one mass of stone. The Museum 
at Naples is stored with a large collection of their 
movable remains. Many of the agricultural implements 
are the same as those now in use among the Neapolitans. 
Their cooking utensils evince ingenuity, and show 
what refined gluttons the Romans then were. 

West of Naples are regions which the poets have 
peopled with their fabled creatures. Riding through 
Puteoli we stopped near the point where St. Paul is said 
to have landed. Acts 28 : 13. A few piers mark the 
site of the old Roman wharf. I laid the reins upon the 
neck of my horse, and without dismounting, read the 
narrative of the Apostle's landing here to my compan- 
ions. A few miles beyond this is lake A vera us, a placid 
little sheet of water, which to me seemed wholly inno- 
cent of its poetic reputation. It must have looked 
quite different to the ancients, who made it the fabled 
entrance to Plutonic regions. 

Near the edge of the lake is the Sybil's cave. A 
peep through the doorway convinced me that it was 
the entrance to nothing, like all caves, grottoes and 
temples of its kind. We rode round to the ancient 
crumbling city of Cuma, and thence to Baiae. A small 
hamlet along the sea coast is all that remains of this 
once proud and voluptuous city. The surrounding 
country was anciently covered with the villas of wealthy 
Romans, who deemed an acre of ground near the oyster- 
bearing Baiae, a necessary part of their existence. 
Csesar, Pompey, Man us and Nero had their splendid 
villas here. After proceeding to the shore, opposite 



A VISIT TO THE ISLE OF CAPRI. 463 

Misenum, we turned homeward, passing the baths of 
Nero. These consist of a series of hot subterranean 
vaults along the sea coast, which the Neapolitans visit 
to cure the rheumatism. We stooped our way through 
a number of passages, filled with hot vapor, crawling 
along with the face near the ground to avoid inhaling 
the burning air, and finally rushed out of them, black 
with soot and dripping with perspiration. 

Twenty -two miles from Naples is the isle of Capri, 
famous for its " blue grotto," whose walls on a clear day 
are said to gleam with an endless variety of prismatic 
colors. Qf course we must see Capri. The cars took 
us to Castle-a-mare, a coach a few miles further to a 
place where part of the mountain had slid over the 
road. A boat took us around the land-slide on the 
bay, and just as we were opposite to it, a large rock 
broke loose five hundred feet above, bouncing from crag 
to cliff, filling the air with a confusion of broken thun- 
der-claps, as if a score of thunder-storms had joined 
battle. Fortunately we were beyond their reach. Soon 
we landed again, and rode to Sorrento, over a road 
winding around the mountain, many hundred feet above 
the sea, through a series of olive groves, and heavy- 
laden orange gardens. We entered the picturesque 
town of Sorrento through a street in which the footman 
had to press on the door-sills, to make room for our 
passing them. Here we hired a boat with two small 
sails to take us to Capri, a distance often miles. Four 
swarthy, sinewy, black-haired rowers, soon made our 
ship streak out into the bay. Then came a sharp sea 
breeze, our sails were hoisted, and our craft tilted and 
darted over the swelling main, the delighted boatmen in 
the meanwhile chatting their familiar stories with 



464 THE "BLUE GROTTO" OF CAPRI. 

merry glee. There we sat in the stern, indulging in 
ambiguous musings, and watched our fleet bark, prancing 
athwart the waves. For a short spell our demeanor 
was not unworthy of more experienced seamen, whose 

" Path is on tbe mountain wave 

Whose home is on the deep." 
But alas! huw fleeting and evanescent are human 
joys! Soon came the dismal sequel, a sullen peevish- 
ness, then the heaving sea-sickness. What cares 
a man for the prismatic splendor of the " blue grotto" 
while in such a state. But we have reached Capri, and 
must enter the cave. We laid flat down in a small 
boat, which was pushed through a hole, about two and a 
half feet high, while the swelling waves at times 
almost closed it up. But the sun did not shine, and 
our vision for the beautiful was beclouded. We looked 
gloomily at the clear blue water, and up to the famous 
ceiling, where we saw rocks and none but dreary colors. 
The door seemed to fill up; what a predicament to be 
locked up in this damp cavern by a stormy sea, in such 
an unromantic mood! Our little craft scraped through 
the small entrance, and we resumed our seats in our 
ship for a voyage directly to Naples, instead of Sorronto. 
After such a dreary, unsteady day our cozy quar- 
ters in the Hotel Bellevue seemed very home-like. 
Around the supper table the incidents of the day were 
discussed with grateful joy. We bowed in our cus- 
tomary evening prayer with more than usual solemnity. 
This eveni og group consisted of Rev. S. Treat, D. D., 
for more than forty years the efficient Secretary of the 
American Board of Foreign Missions, and N. Carruth, 
Esq., of Boston ; Rev. J. R. Mann, D. D., of New York, 
and myself. This act of worship formed a fitting close 
of the day ; it forms a fitting close of this volume. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS £ 



020 677 517 8 



